HUGH  LATIMER,  Bishop    of  Worcester,  to    LORD    CROMWELL,  on    the 
birth  of  the  PRINCE  OF  WALES  (afterward  EDWARD  VI.). 


FROM     THE 


NATIONAL      MANUSCRIPTS       PRESERVED     BY 
GOVERNMENT. 


THE      BRITISH 


HUGH   LATIMER,  Bishop  of   Worcester,  to   LORD  CROMWELL,   on  the 
birth  of  the  PRINCE  OF  WALES  (afterward  EDWARD  VI.). 

FROM      THE     NATIONAL     MANUSCRIPTS      PRESERVED      BY      THE      BRITISH 
GOVERNMENT. 

Ryght  honorable,  Salutetn  in  Christo  Jesu,  and  Syr  here  ys  no 
lesse  joynge  and  rejossynge  in  thes  partees  for  the  byrth  of  our 
prynce,  hoom  we  hungurde  for  so  longe,  then  ther  was  (I  trow), 
inter  vicinos  att  the  byrth  of  S.  I.  Baptyste,  as  thys  berer,  Master 
Erance,  can  telle  you.  Code  gyffe  us  alle  grace,  to  yelde  dew 
thankes  to  our  Lorde  Gode,  Code  of  Inglonde,  for  verely  He  hathe 
shoyd  Hym  selff  Gode  of  Inglonde,  or  rather  an  Inglyssh  Gode,  yf 
we  consydyr  and  pondyr  welle  alle  Hys  procedynges  with  us  from 
tyme  to  tyme.  He  hath  overcumme  alle  our  yllnesse  with  Hys  ex- 
cedynge  goodnesse,  so  that  we  ar  now  moor  then  compellyd  to  serve 
Hym,  seke  Hys  glory,  promott  Hys  wurde,  yf  the  Devylle  of  alle 
Devylles  be  natt  in  us.  We  have  now  the  stooppe  of  vayne  trustes 
ande  the  stey  of  vayne  expectations;  lett  us  alle  pray  for  hys  preser 
vatione.  Ande  I  for  my  partt  wylle  wyssh  that  hys  Grace  allways 
have,  and  evyn  now  from  the  begynynge,  Governares,  Instructores 
and  offyceres  of  ryght  jugmente,  ne  optimum  ingenium  non  optima 
educatione  dcpravetur. 

Butt  whatt  a  grett  fowlle  am  I!  So,  whatt  devotione  shoyth  many 
tymys  butt  lytelle  dyscretione!  Ande  thus  the  Gode  of  Inglonde  be 
ever  with  you  in  alle  your  procedynges. 

The  19  of  October. 

Youres,  H.  L.  B.  of  Wurcestere,  now  att  Hartlebury. 

Yf  you  wolde  excytt  thys  berere  to  be  moore  hartye  ayen  the 
abuse  of  ymagry  or  mor  forwarde  to  promotte  the  veryte,  ytt  myght 
doo  goode.  Natt  that  ytt  came  of  me,  butt  of  your  selffe,  &c. 

(Addressed}  To  the  Ryght  Honorable  Loorde  P.  Sealle  hys  syngu- 
ler  gode  Lorde. 


"  LET    HIM   IN  ! 


•  THE 

PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER* 


A  TALE 
FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE  OF  ALL  AGES 


BY 

MARK    TWAIN 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  L.  WEBSTER  &  COMPANY 

1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1881, 
BY   S.  L.  CLEMENS. 

(All  rights  reserved.) 


PRESS  OF 

JENKINS    &    McCOWAh 
NEW   YORK 


!  2 

A  i 


TO 
THOSE  GOOD-MANNERED  AND  AGREEABLE  CHILDREN, 

SUSIE   AND    CLARA   CLEMENS, 

®l)is   Book 

IS   AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED 
BY   THEIR  FATHER 


THE  quality  of  mercy     .     .     . 

is  twice  bless'd; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest:  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

L 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER  . 

•        19 

II. 

TOM'S  EARLY  LIFE  

21 

III. 

TOM'S    MEETING   WITH    THE    PRINCE 

.       28 

IV. 

THE  PRINCE'S  TROUBLES  BEGIN 

•            36 

v 

42 

V  * 

VI. 

TOM  RECEIVES  INSTRUCTIONS     .... 

52 

VII. 

TOM'S  FIRST  ROYAL  DINNER        .... 

.     61 

VIII. 

THE  QUESTION  OF  THE  SEAL   .... 

67 

TV 

70 

1-A.. 

X. 

THE  PRINCE  IN  THE  TOILS       .... 

74 

XL 

AT  GUILDHALL      .....•• 

.     85 

XII. 

THE  PRINCE  AND  His  DELIVERER    . 

91 

XIII. 

THE  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  THE  PRINCE  . 

.   106 

XIV. 

"  LE  Roi  EST  MORT  —  VIVE  LE  Roi  " 

112 

XV. 

TOM  AS  KING        *   • 

.    126 

XVI. 

THE  STATE  DINNER 

•          139 

V  V  T  1 

-    J44 

A.  V  1  1. 

XVIII. 

THE  PRINCE  WITH  THE  TRAMPS       .        .  '     . 

.       158 

XIX. 

THE  PRINCE  WITH  THE  PEASANTS 

.   168 

XX. 

THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  HERMIT 

.       176 

XXI. 

HENDON  TO  THE  RESCUE     

.   184 

XXII. 

A  VICTIM  OF  TREACHERY          .... 

.       190 

W  T  T  T 

-_                                ID               XT     r> 

198 

AAlll. 

XXIV. 

THE  ESCAPE       

203 

YYV 

.   207 

A.  A.  V  . 

XXVI. 

DISOWNED          ...•••• 

.       217 

W\7T  T 

T       r> 

.    222 

A.A  V  11. 

XXVIII. 

THE  SACRIFICE          

235 

XXIX. 

To  LONDON           

.    24O 

XXX. 

TOM'S  PROGRESS        

•         243 

XXXI. 

THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION     .... 

.    247 

XXXII. 

CORONATION  DAY      

•         255 

XXXIII. 

EDWARD  AS  KING 

.    270 

CONCLl 

JSION.     JUSTICE  AND  RETRIBUTION    . 

.          279 

NOTES 


283 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"Let  Him  In!"  (frontispiece)           ......  i 

The  Birth  of  the  Prince  and  the  Pauper  (half-title)       .         .         .17 

Offal  Court 22 

"  With  any  Miserable  Crust  "        .....        ~.         .  23 

"  Brought  their  Perplexities  to  Tom  "      .....  25 

"  Set  upon  by  Dogs "     .         ...         .         .         .         .         .  37 

"A  Drunken  Ruffian  Collared  Him"         .....  39 

"  Next  He  Drew  the  Sword" 43 

"The  Boy  Was  on  His  Knees"         .                   .         .         .         .  45 

"  Is  this  Man  to  Live  Forever?"  .         .         .         .         .        *.         .  49 

Hertford  and  the  Princesses      .......  55 

"  Tom  Ate  with  His  Fingers"       .......  63 

"  He  Gravely  Took  a  Draught "         ......  64 

"  Tom  Canty  Stepped  into  View  "          ......  72 

"  She  Bent  Heedfully  and  Warily  Over  Him  "...  79 

"  He  Wasted  No  Time" 83 

"  Began  to  Lay  About  Him"    .......  89 

"  Our  Friends  Threaded  Their  Way "  .         .         .         .         .92 

"  Smoothing  Back  the  Tangled  Curls"     .....  96 

"  Go  on— Tell  Me  Thy  Story  " 99 

"  He  Dropped  on  One  Knee  " 103 

"  He  Dropped  Asleep"          ........  107 

"  Wilt  Deign  to  Deliver  Thy  Commands?"      ....  113 

"  The  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber  Received  the  Hose"  .         .  115 

" 'Tis  I  that  Take  Them" 122 

"  Tom  had  Wandered  to  a  Window  " 127 

"What  Is  It  That  These  Have  Done?" 134 

"  A  Gentleman  Bearing  a  Rod  "     .......  14° 

"  I  Thank  Ye  My  Good  People  " 141 

"  He  Seized  a  Billet  of  Wood  " 146 

"  He  Was  Soon  Absorbed  in  Thinking"     .....  148 


xiv  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

"  Whilst  the  Flames  Licked  Upwards  " 151 

"  Thou  Shalt  Not  " 154 

"Throne  Him" 156 

"  He  Stumbled  Along  " 163 

"  Took  a  Good  Satisfying  Stare  " 170 

"  Gave  Him  a  Butcher  Knife  to  Grind 174 

"I  Will  Tell  You  a  Secret" 178 

"  The  Next  Moment  They  Were  Bound  " 183 

"  Sunk  Upon  His  Knees" 185 

"  Hugo  Stood  no  Chance"     ........  191 

"  The  King  Sprang  to  His  Deliverer's  Side  "            .         .         .  196 

"  Gently,  Good  Friend  " 199 

"  The  Pig  May  Cost  Thy  Neck,  Man" 204 

"  Jogging  Eastward  on  Sorry  Steeds  "           .....  208 

"A  Beautiful  Lady,  Richly  Clothed,  Followed  Hugh"   .         .  214 
"  Hugh  Was  Pinned  to  the  Wall"          ....                   .215 

"  Chained  in  a  Large  Room" •  223 

"  Information  Delivered  in  a  Low  Voice"     .         .                             .  226 

"The  King  !"    He  Cried.     "What  King?"      .         .  228 

"  Two  Women  Chained  to  Posts" 231 

"  While  the  Lash  Was  Applied  the  Poor  King  Turned  Away  His 

Face" 237 

"  Commanded  Her  to  Go  to  Her  Closet  " 244 

"  Welcome,  O  King  !" 248 

"  My  Liege,  It  Is  an  111  Time  for  Dreaming"       ....  253 

"  Tom  Canty  Appeared "            .......  257 

"  And  Fell  on  His  Knees  Before  Him" 259 

"  Bethink  Thee,  My  King"       .         .  265 

"  To  Crack  Nuts  With  " 268 

"Tom  Rose  and  Kissed  the  King's  Hand"       ....  277 


I  WILL  set  down  a  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me  by  one  who  had 
it  of  his  hither,  which  latter  had  it  of  his  father,  this  last  hav 
ing  in  like  manner  had  it  of  his  father — and  so  on,  back 
and  still  back,  three  hundred  years  and  more,  the  fathers 
transmitting  it  to  the  sons  and  so  preserving  it.  It  may  be 
history,  it  may  be  only  a  legend,  a  tradition.  It  may  have 
happened,  it  may  not  have  happened:  but  it  could  have  hap 
pened.  It  may  be  that  the  wise  and  the  learned  believed  it 
in  the  old  days;  it  may  be  that  only  the  unlearned  and  the 
simple  loved  it  and  credited  it.  . 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER. 

IN  the  ancient  city  of  London,  on  a  certain  autumn  day  in 
the  second  quarter  of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  boy  was  born 
to  a  poor  family  of  the  name  of  Canty,  who  did  not  want 
him.  On  the  same  day  another  English  child  was  born  to  a 
rich  family  of  the  name  of  Tudor,  who  did  want  him.  All 
England  wanted  him  too.  England  had  so  longed  for  him, 
and  hoped  for  him,  and  prayed  God  for  him,  that,  .now  that  he 
was  really  come  the  people  went  nearly  mad  for  joy.  Mere  ac 
quaintances  hugged  and  kissed  each  other  and  cried.  Every 
body  took  a  holiday,  and  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  feasted 
and  danced  and  sang,  and  got  very  mellow  ;  and  they  kept  this 
up  for  days  and  nights  together.  By  day,  London  was  a  sight 
to  see,  with  gay  banners  waving  from  every  balcony  and  house 
top,  and  splendid  pageants  marching  along.  By  night,  it  was 
again  a  sight  to  see,  with  its  great  bonfires  at  every  corner, 
and  its  troops  of  revellers  making  merry  around  them.  There 
was  no  talk  in  all  England  but  of  the  new  baby,  Edward 
Tudor,  Prince  of  Wales,  who  lay  lapped  in  silks  and  satins, 
unconscious  of  all  this  fuss,  and  not  knowing  that  great  lords 

19 


20    THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER. 

and  ladies  were  tending  him  and  watching  over  him — and  not 
caring,  either.  But  there  was  no  talk  about  the  other  baby, 
Tom  Canty,  lapped  in  his  poor  rags,  except  among  the  fam 
ily  of  paupers  whom  he  had  just  come  to  trouble  with  his 
presence. 


CHAPTER    II. 

TOM'S     EARLY    LIFE. 

LET  us  skip  a  number  of  years. 

London  was  fifteen  hundred  years  old,  and  was  a  great 
town — for  that  day.  It  had  a  hundred  thousand  inhabitants 
— some  think  double  as  many.  The  streets  were  very  nar 
row,  and  crooked,  and  dirty,  especially  in  the  part  where  Tom 
Canty  lived,  which  was  not  far  from  London  Bridge.  The 
houses  were  of  wood,  with  the  second  story  projecting  over 
the  first,  and  the  third  sticking  its  elbows  out  beyond  the 
second.  The  higher  the  houses  grew,  the  broader  they 
grew.  They  were  skeletons  of  strong  criss-cross  beams, 
with  solid  material  between,  coated  with  plaster.  The  beams 
were  painted  red  or  blue  or  black,  according  to  the  owner's 
taste,  and  this  gave  the  houses  a  very  picturesque  look.  The 
windows  were  small,  glazed  with  little  diamond-shaped  panes, 
and  they  opened  outward,  on  hinges,  like  doors. 

The  house  which  Tom's  father  lived  in  was  up  a  foul  little 
pocket  called  Offal  Court,  out  of  Pudding  Lane.  It  was 
small,  decayed,  and  rickety,  but  it  was  packed  full  of  wretch 
edly  poor  families.  Canty's  tribe  occupied  a  room  on  the 
third  floor.  The  mother  and  father  had  a  sort  of  bedstead  in 
the  corner  ;  but  Tom,  his  grandmother,  and  his  two  sisters, 
Bet  and  Nan,  were  not  restricted — they  had  all  the  floor  to 
themselves,  and  might  sleep  where  they  chose.  There  were 
the  remains  of  a  blanket  or  two,  and  some  bundles  of  ancient 
and  dirty  straw,  but  these  could  not  rightly  be  called  beds, 
for  they  were  not  organized  ;  they  were  kicked  into  a  general 


22 


TOM'S   EARLY    LIFE. 


pile,  mornings, 
and  select! ons 
made  from  the 
mass  at  night,  for 
service. 

Bet  and   Nan 
were  fifteen  years 
old — twins.  They 
were   good-heart 
ed  girls,  unclean, 
clothed    in    rags, 
and     profoundly 
ignorant.       Their 
mother   wai    like 
them.      But    the 
father    and   the 
grandmother  were 
a  couple  of  fiends, 
They   got    drunk 
whenever  they 
could  ;  then  they 
fought  each  other 
or   anybody    else 
who  came  in  the 
way  ;  they  cursed 
and  swore  always, 
drunk  or    sober ; 
John  Canty  was  a 
thief,  and  his 
mother  a  beggar. 
They  made  beg 
gars  of   the  chil 
dren,  but  failed  to 
make   thieves    of 


TOM'S  EARLY   LIFE.  23 

them.  Among,  but  not  of,  the  dreadful  rabble  that  inhab 
ited  the  house,  was  a  good  old  priest  whom  the  King  had 
turned  out  of  house  and  home  with  a  pension  of  a  few 
farthings,  and  he  used  to  get  the  children  aside  and  teach 
them  right  ways  secretly.  Father  Andrew  also  taught  Tom 
a  little  Latin,  and  how  to  read  and  write  ;  and  would  have 
done  the  same  with  the  girls,  but  they  were  afraid  of  the  jeers 
of  their  friends,  who  could  not  have  endured  such  a  queer 
accomplishment  in  them. 


"WITH   ANY   MISERABLE   CRUST. 

All  Offal  Court  was  just  such  another  hive  as  Canty' s 
house.  Drunkenness,  riot  and  brawling  were  the  order,  there, 
every  night  and  nearly  all  night  long.  Broken  heads  were  as 
common  as  hunger  in  that  place.  Yet  little  Tom  was  not 
unhappy.  He  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  did  not  know  it.  It 
was  the  sort  of  time  that  all  the  Offal  Court  boys  had,  there 
fore  he  supposed  it  was  the  correct  and  comfortable  thing. 
When  he  came  home  empty  handed  at  night,  he  knew  his 


24  TOM'S   EARLY   LIFE. 

father  would  curse  him  and  thrash  him  first,  and  that  when 
he  was  done  the  awful  grandmother  would  do  it  all  over  again 
and  improve  on  it  ;  and  that  away  in  the  night  his  starving 
mother  would  slip  to  him  stealthily  with  any  miserable  scrap 
or  crust  she  had  been  able  to  save  for  him  by  going  hungry 
herself,  notwithstanding  she  was  often  caught  in  that  sort  of 
treason  and  soundly  beaten  for  it  by  her  husband. 

No,  Tom's  life  went  along  well  enough,  especially  in  sum 
mer.  He  only  begged  just  enough  to  save  himself,  for  the 
laws  against  mendicancy  were  stringent,  and  the  penalties 
heavy  ;  so  he  put  in  a  good  deal  of  his  time  listening  to  good 
Father  Andrew's  charming  old  tales  and  legends  about  giants 
and  fairies,  dwarfs  and  genii,  and  enchanted  castles,  and  gor 
geous  kings  and  princes.  His  head  grew  to  be  full  of  these 
wonderful  things,  and  many  a  night  as  he  lay  in  the  dark  on 
his  scant  and  offensive  straw,  tired,  hungry,  and  smarting  from 
a  thrashing,  he  unleashed  his  imagination  and  soon  forgot  his 
aches  and  pains  in  delicious  picturings  to  himself  of  the 
charmed  life  of  a  petted  prince  in  a  regal  palace.  One  desire 
came  in  time  to  haunt  him  day  and  night :  it  was  to  see  a 
real  prince,  with  his  own  eyes.  He  spoke  of  it  once  to  some 
of  his  Offal  Court  comrades  ;  but  they  jeered  htm  and  scoffed 
him  so  unmercifully  that  he  was  glad  to  keep  his  dream  to 
himself  after  that. 

He  often  read  the  priest's  old  books  and  got  hinj  to  ex 
plain  and  enlarge  upon  them.  His  dreamings  and  readings 
worked  certain  changes  in  him,  by  and  by.  His  dream-peo 
ple  were  so  fine  that  he  grew  to  lament  his  shabby  clothing 
and  his  dirt,  and  to  wish  to  be  clean  and  better  clad.  He 
went  on  playing  in  the  mud  just  the  same,  and  enjoying  it, 
too";  but  instead  of  splashing  around  in  the  Thames  solely 
for  the  fun  of  it,  he  began  to  find  an  added  value  in  it  be 
cause  of  the  washings  and  cleansihgs  it  afforded. 

Tom  could  always   find  something  going  on  around  the 


TOMS   EARLY 


L\YE. 


Maypole  in  Cheapside,  and  at  the  fairs  ;  and  now  and  then  he 
and  the  rest  of  London  had  a  chance  to  see  a  military  parade 
when  some  famous  unfortunate  was  carried  prisoner  to  the 
Tower,  by  land  or  boat.  One  summer's  day  he  saw  poor 
Anne  Askew  and  three  men  burned  at  the  stake  in  Smith - 
field,  and  heard  an  ex-Bishop  preach  a  sermon  to  them  which 
did  not  interest  him. 
Yes,  Tom's  life  was 
varied  and  pleasant 
enough,  on  the  whole. 
By  and  by  Tom's 
reading  and  dreaming 
about  princely  life 
wrought  such  a  strong 
effect  upon  him  that  he 
began  to  act  the  prince, 
unconsciously.  H  i  s 
speech  and  manners 
became  curiously  cere 
monious  and  courtly, 
to  the  vast  admiration 
and  amusement  of  his 
intimates.  But  Tom's 
influence  among  these 
young  people  began  to  "BROUGHT  THEIR  PERPLEXITIES  TO  TOM." 
grow,  now,  day  by  day; 

and  in  time  he  came  to  be  looked  up  to,  by  them,  with  a  sort 
of  wondering  awe,  as  a  superior  being.  He  seemed  to  know 
so  much  !  and  he  could  do  and  say  such  marvellous  things  ! 
and  withal,  he  was  so  deep  and  wise  !  Tom's  remarks,  and 
Tom's  performances,  were  reported  by  the  boys  to  their  eld 
ers  ;  and  these,  also,  presently  began  to  discuss  Tom  Canty, 
and  to  regard  him  as  a  most  gifted  and  extraordinary  crea 
ture.  Full  grown  people  brought  their  perplexities  to  Tom 


26  TOM'S   EARLY   LIFE. 

for  solution,  and  were  often  astonished  at  the  wit  and  wisdom 
of  his  decisions.  In  fact  he  was  become  a  hero  to  all  who 
knew  him  except  his  own  family — these,  only,  saw  nothing  in 
him. 

Privately,  after  a  while,  Tom  organized  a  royal  court!  He 
was  the  prince;  his  special  comrades  were  guards,  chamber 
lains,  equerries,  lords  and  ladies  in  waiting,  and  the  royal 
family.  Daily  the  mock  prince  was  received  with  elaborate 
ceremonials  borrowed  by  Tom  from  his  romantic  readings; 
daily  the  great  affairs  of  the  mimic  kingdom  were  discussed 
in  the  royal  council,  and  daily  his  mimic  highness  issued 
decrees  to  his  imaginary  armies,  navies,  and  viceroyalties. 

After  which,  he  would  go  forth  in  his  rags  and  beg  a  few 
farthings,  eat  his  poor  crust,  take  his  customary  cuffs  and 
abuse,  and  then  stretch  himself  upon  his  handful  of  foul 
straw,  and  resume  his  empty  grandeurs  in  his  dreams. 

And  still  his  desire  to  look  just  once  upon  a  real  prince,  in 
the  flesh,  grew  upon  him,  day  by  day,  and  week  by  week, 
until  at  last  it  absorbed  all  other  desires,  and  became  the  one 
passion  of  his  life. 

One  January  day,  on  his  usual  begging  tour,  he  tramped 
despondently  up  and  down  the  region  round  about  Mincing 
Lane  and  Little  East  Cheap,  hour  after  hour,  bare-footed  and 
cold,  looking  in  at  cook-shop  windows  and  longing  for  the 
dreadful  pork-pies  and  other  deadly  inventions  displayed 
there — for  to  him  these  were  dainties  fit  for  the  angels;  that 
is,  judging  by  the  smell,  they  were — for  it  had  never  been  his 
good  luck  to  own  and  eat  one.  There  was  a  cold  drizzle  of 
rain;  the  atmosphere  was  murky;  it  was  a  melancholy  day. 
At  night  Tom  reached  home  so  wet  and  tired  and  hungry 
that  it  was  not  possible  for  his  father  and  grandmother  to 
observe  his  forlorn  condition  and  not  be  moved — after  their 
fashion;  wherefore  they  gave  him  a  brisk  cuffing  at  once 
and  sent  him  to  bed.  For  a  long  time  his  pain  and  hunger, 


TOM'S   EARLY   LIFE.  2/ 

and  the  swearing  and  fighting  going  on  in  the  building,  kept 
him  awake  ;  but  at  last  his  thoughts  drifted  away  to  far,  ro 
mantic  lands,  and  he  fell  asleep  in  the  company  of  jewelled 
and  gilded  princelings  who  lived  in  vast  palaces,  and  had 
servants  salaaming  before  them  or  flying  to  execute  their 
orders.  And  then,  as  usual,  he  dreamed  that  he  was  a  prince 
ling  himself. 

All  night  long  the  glories  of  his  royal  estate  shone  upon 
him  ;  he  moved  among  great  lords  and  ladies,  in  a  blaze  of 
light,  breathing  perfumes,  drinking  in  delicious  music,  and 
answering  the  reverent  obeisances  of  the  glittering  throng  as 
it  parted  to  make  way  for  him,  with  here  a  smile,  and  there  a 
nod  of  his  princely  head. 

And  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning  and  looked  upon  the 
wretchedness  about  him,  his  dream  had  had  its  usual  effect — 
it  had  intensified  the  sordidness  of  his  surroundings  a  thou 
sand  fold.  Then  came  bitterness,  and  heart-break,  and 
tears. 


CHAPTER    III. 

TOM'S   MEETING    WITH   THE    PRINCE. 

TOM  got  up  hungry,  and  sauntered  hungry  away,  but  with 
his  thoughts  busy  with  the  shadowy  splendors  of  his  night's 
dreams.  He  wandered  here  and  there  in  the  city,  hardly 
noticing  where  he  was  going,  or  what  was  happening  around 
him.  People  jostled  him,  and  some  gave  him  rough  speech  ; 
but  it  was  all  lost  on  the  musing  boy.  By  and  by  he  found 
himself  at  Temple  Bar,  the  farthest  from  home  he  had  ever 
travelled  in  that  direction.  He  stopped  and  considered  a 
moment,  then  fell  into  his  imaginings  again,  and  passed  on 
outside  the  walls  of  London.  The  Strand  had  ceased  to  be 
a  country-road  then,  and  regarded  itself  as  a  street,  but  by  a 
strained  construction  ;  for,  though  there  was  a  tolerably  com 
pact  row  of  houses  on  one  side  of  it,  there  were  only  some 
scattering  great  buildings  on  the  other,  these  being  palaces 
of  rich  nobles,  with  ample  and  beautiful  grounds  stretching 
to  the  river, — grounds  that  are  now  closely  packed  with  grim 
acres  of  brick  and  stone. 

Tom  discovered  Charing  Village  presently,  and  rested  him 
self  at  the  beautiful  cross  built  there  by  a  bereaved  king  of 
earlier  days;  then  idled  down  a  quiet,  lovely  road,  past  the 
great  cardinal's  stately  palace,  toward  a  far  more  mighty  and 
majestic  palace  beyond, — Westminster.  Tom  stared  in  glad 
wonder  at  the  vast  pile  o'f  masonry,  the  wide-spreading  wings, 
the  frowning  bastions  and  turrets,  the  huge  stone  gateway, 
with  its  gilded  bars  and  its  magnificent  array  of  colossal  gran 
ite  lions,  and  the  other  signs  and  symbols  of  English  royalty. 


TOM'S   MEETING   WITH   THE   PRINCE.  29 

Was  the  desire  of  his  soul  to  be  satisfied  at  last  ?  Here,  in 
deed,  was  a  king's  palace.  Might  he  not  hope  to  see  a  prince 
now, — a  prince  of  flesh  and  blood,  if  Heaven  were  willing  ? 

At  each  side  of  the  gilded  gate  stood  a  living  statue,  that  is 
to  say,  an  erect  and  stately  and  motionless  man-at-arms,  clad 
from  head  to  heel  in  shining  steel  armor.  At  a  respectful 
distance  were  many  country  folk,  and  people  from  the  city, 
waiting  for  any  chance  glimpse  of  royalty  that  might  offer. 
Splendid  carriages,  with  splendid  people  in  them  and  splendid 
servants  outside,  were  arriving  and  departing  by  several  other 
noble  gateways  that  pierced  the  royal  enclosure. 

Poor  little  Tom,  in  his  rags,  approached,  and  was  moving 
slow  and  timidly  past  the  sentinels,  with  a  beating  heart  and 
a  rising  hope,  when  all  at  once  he  caught  sight  through  the 
golden  bars  of  a  spectacle  that  almost  made  him  shout  for 
joy.  Within  was  a  comely  boy,  tanned  and  brown  with  sturdy 
out-door  sports  and  exercises,  whose  clothing  was  all  of  love 
ly  silks  and  satins,  shining  with  jewels;  at  his  hip  a  little  jew 
elled  sword  and  dagger;  dainty  buskins  on  his  feet,  with  red 
heels;  and  on  his  head  a  jaunty  crimson  cap,  with  drooping 
plumes  fastened  with  a  great  sparkling  gem.  Several  gorgeous 
gentlemen  stood  near, — his  servants,  without  a  doubt.  Oh  ! 
he  was  a  prince — a  prince,  a  living  prince,  a  real  prince — 
without  the  shadow  of  a  question;  and  the  prayer  of  the  pau 
per-boy's  heart  was  answered  at  last. 

Tom's  breath  came  quick  and  short  with  excitement,  and 
his  eyes  grew  big  with  wonder  and  delight.  Every  thing 
gave  way  in  his  mind  instantly  to  one  desire  :  that  was  to  get 
close  to  the  prince,  and  have  a  good,  devouring  look  at  him. 
Before  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  had  his  face  against 
the  gate-bars.  The  next  instant  one  of  the  soldiers  snatched 
him  rudely  away,  and  sent  him  spinning  among  the  gaping 
crowd  of  country  gawks  and  London  idlers.  The  soldier 
said, — 


30  TOM'S   MEETING    WITH   THE   PRINCE. 

"  Mind  thy  manners,  thou  young  beggar  !  " 

The  crowd  jeered  and  laughed  ;  but  the  young  prince 
sprang  to  the  gate  with  his  face  flushed,  and  his  eyes  flashing 
with  indignation,  and  cried  out, — 

"  How  dar'st  thou  use  a  poor  lad  like  that  !  How  dar'st 
thou  use  the  King  my  father's  meanest  subject  so  !  Open 
the  gates,  and  let  him  in  ! " 

You  should  have  seen  that  fickle  crowd  snatch  off  their 
hats  then.  You  should  have  heard  them  cheer,  and  shout, 
"  Long  live  the  Prince  of  Wales  !  " 

The  soldiers  presented  arms  with  their  halberds,  opened 
the  gates,  and  presented  again  as  the  little  Prince  of  Poverty 
passed  in,  in  his  fluttering  rags,  to  join  hands  with  the  Prince 
of  Limitless  Plenty. 

Edward  Tudor  said,— 

"Thou  lookest  tired  and  hungry  :  thou'st  been  treated  ill. 
Come  with  me." 

Half  a  dozen  attendants  sprang  forward  to — I  don't  know 
what;  interfere,  no  doubt.  But  they  were  waved  aside  with 
a  right  royal  gesture,  and  they  stopped  stock  still  where  they 
were,  like  so  many  statues.  Edward  took  Tom  to  a  rich 
apartment  in  the  palace,  which  he  called  his  cabinet.  By  his 
command  a  repast  was  brought  such  as  Tom  had  never  en 
countered  before  except  in  books.  The  prince,  with  princely 
delicacy  and  breeding,  sent  away  the  servants,  so  that  his 
humble  guest  might  not  be  embarrassed  by  their  critical 
presence;  then  he  sat  near  by,  and  asked  questions  while 
Tom  ate. 

"  What  is  thy  name,  lad  ?  " 

"  Tom  Canty,  an*  it  please  thee,  sir." 

"  'Tis  an  odd  one.     Where  dost  live  ?  " 

"  In  the  city,  please  thee,  sir.  Offal  Court,  out  of  Pud 
ding  Lane." 

"  Offal  Court !  Truly  'tis  another  odd  one.   Hast  parents  ? " 


TOM'S   MEETING   WITH   THE   PRINCE.  31 

"  Parents  have  I,  sir,  and  a  grand-dam  likewise  that  is  but 
indifferently  precious  to  me,  God  forgive  me  if  it  be  offence 
to  say  it — also  twin  sisters,  Nan  and  Bet." 

"  Then  is  thy  grand-dam  not  over  kind  to  thee,  I  take  it. 

"  Neither  to  any  other  is  she,  so  please  your  Worship.  She 
hath  a  wicked  heart,  and  worketh  evil  all  her  days." 

"  Doth  she  mistreat  thee  ?  " 

"  There  be  times  that  she  stayeth  her  hand,  being  asleep  or 
overcome  with  drink;  but  when  she  hath  her  judgment  clear 
again,  she  maketh  it  up  to  me  with  goodly  beatings." 

A  fierce  look  came  into  the  little  prince's  eyes,  and  he 
cried  out, — 

"  What  !     Beatings  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes,  please  you,  sir." 

"Beatings! — and  thou  so  frail  and  little.  Hark  ye  :  be 
fore  the  night  come,  she  shall  hie  her  to  the  Tower.  The 
King  my  father  " — 

"  In  sooth,  you  forget,  sir,  her  low  degree.  The  Tower  is 
for  the  great  alone." 

"  True,  indeed.  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  I  will  consider 
of  her  punishment.  Is  thy  father  kind  to  thee  ? " 

"  Not  more  than  Gammer  Canty,  sir." 

"  Fathers  be  alike,  mayhap.  Mine  hath  not  a  doll's  tem 
per.  He  smiteth  with  a  heavy  hand,  yet  spareth  me  :  he 
spareth  me  not  always  with  his  tongue,  though,  sooth  to  say. 
How  doth  thy  mother  use  thee  ? " 

"  She  is  good,  sir,  and  giveth  me  neither  sorrow  nor  pain 
of  any  sort.  And  Nan  and  Bet  are  like  to  her  in  this." 

"  How  old  be  these  ?  " 

"  Fifteen,  an'  it  please  you,  sir." 

"The  Lady  Elizabeth,  my  sister,  is  fourteen,  and  the 
Lady  Jane  Grey,  my  cousin,  is  of  mine  own  age,  and 
comely  and  gracious  withal;  but  my  sister  the  Lady 
Mary,  with  her  gloomy  mien  and —  Look  you  :  do  thy 


32  TOM'S   MEETING   WITH   THE   PRINCE. 

sisters  forbid  their  servants  to  smile,  lest  the  sin  destroy 
their  souls  ? " 

"  They  ?     Oh,  dost  think,  sir,  that  they  have  servants  ?  " 

The  little  prince  contemplated  the  little  pauper  gravely  a 
moment,  then  said, — 

"  And  prithee,  why  not?  Who  helpeth  them  undress  at 
night?  who  attireth  them  when  they  rise  ?" 

"  None,  sir.  Wouldst  have  them  take  off  their  garment, 
and  sleep  without, — like  the  beasts  ?  " 

"  Their  garment !     Have  they  but  one  ?  " 

"  Ah,  good  your  worship,  what  would  they  do  with  more  ? 
Truly  they  have  not  two  bodies  each." 

"  It  is  a  quaint  and  marvellous  thought  !  Thy  pardon, 
I  had  not  meant  to  laugh.  But  thy  good  Nan  and  thy  Bet 
shall  have  raiment  and  lackeys  enow,  and  that  soon,  too  : 
my  cofferer  shall  look  to  it.  No,  thank  me  not;  'tis  nothing. 
Thou  speakest  well;  thou  hast  an  easy  grace  in  it.  Art 
learned?" 

"  I  know  not  if  I  am  or  not,  sir.  The  good  priest  that  is  call 
ed  Father  Andrew  taught  me,  of  his  kindness,  from  his  books." 

"  Know'st  thou  the  Latin  ?  " 

"  But  scantly,  sir,  I  doubt." 

"  Learn  it,  lad  :  'tis  hard  only  at  first.  The  Greek  is 
harder  ;  but  neither  these  nor  any  tongues  else,  I  think,  are 
hard  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth  and  my  cousin.  Thou  shouldst 
hear  those  damsels  at  it  !  But  tell  me  of  thy  Offal  Court. 
Hast  thou  a  pleasant  life  there  ? " 

"  In  truth,  yes,  so  please  you,  sir,  save  when  one  is  hun 
gry.  There  be  Punch-and-Judy  shows,  and  monkeys, — oh, 
such  antic  creatures  !  and  so  bravely  dressed  ! — and  there  be 
plays  wherein  they  that  play  do  shout  and  fight  till  all  are 
slain,  and  'tis  so  fine  to  see,  and  costeth  but  a  farthing — 
albeit  'tis  main  hard  to  get  the  farthing,  please  your  worship." 

"  Tell  me  more," 


TOM'S   MEETING  WITH   THE   PRINCE.  33 

"  We  lads  of  Offal  Court  do  strive  against  each  other  with 
the  cudgel,  like  to  the  fashion  of  the  'prentices,  sometimes." 

The  prince's  eyes  flashed.     Said  he, — 

"  Marry,  that  would  I  not  mislike.     Tell  me  more." 

"  We  strive  in  races,  sir,  to  see  who  of  us  shall  be  fleetest." 

"  That  would  I  like  also.     Speak  on." 

"In  summer,  sir,  we  wade  and  swim  in  the  canals  and  in 
the  river,  and  each  doth  duck  his  neighbor,  and  spatter  him 
with  water,  and  dive  and  shout  and  tumble  and  "• 

"  'Twould  be  worth  my  father's  kingdom  but  to  enjoy  it 
once  !  Prithee  go  on." 

"  We  dance  and  sing  about  the  Maypole  in  Cheapside;  we 
play  in  the  sand,  each  covering  his  neighbor  up  ;  and  times 
we  make  mud  pastry — oh,  the  lovely  mud,  it  hath  not  its  like 
for  delightfulness  in  all  the  world  ! — we  do  fairly  wallow  in 
the  mud,  sir,  saving  your  worship's  presence." 

"  Oh,  prithee,  say  no  more,  'tis  glorious  !  If  that  I  could 
but  clothe  me  in  raiment  like  to  thine,  and  strip  my  feet,  and 
revel  in  the  mud  once,  just  once,  with  none  to  rebuke  me  or 
forbid,  meseemeth  I  could  forego  the  crown  ! " 

"  And  if  that  I  could  clothe  me  once,  sweet  sir,  as  thou  art 
clad — just  once  "- 

"Oho,  wouldst  like  it?  Then  so  shall  it  be.  Doff  thy 
rags,  and  don  these  splendors,  lad  !  It  is  a  brief  happiness, 
but  will  be  not  less  keen  for  that.  We  will  have  it  while  we 
may,  and  change  again  before  any  come  to  molest." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  was  gar 
landed  with  Tom's  fluttering  odds  and  ends,  and  the  little 
Prince  of  Pauperdom  was  tricked  out  in  the  gaudy  plumage 
of  royalty.  The  two  went  and  stood  side  by  side  before  a 
great  mirror,  and  lo,  a  miracle  :  there  did  not  seem  to  have 
been  any  change  made  !  They  stared  at  each  other,  then  at 
the  glass,  then  at  each  other  again.  At  last  the  puzzled 
princeling  said, — 


34  TOM'S    MEETING    WITH    THE   PRINCE. 

"  What  dost  thou  make  of  this  ?  " 

"  Ah,  good  your  worship,  require  me  not  to  answer.  It  is 
not  meet  that  one  of  my  degree  should  utter  the  thing." 

"  Then  will  /  utter  it.  Thou  hast  the  same  hair,  the  same 
eyes,  the  same  voice  and  manner,  the  same  form  and  stature, 
the  same  face  and  countenance,  that  I  bear.  Fared  we  forth 
naked,  there  is  none  could  say  which  was  you,  and  which 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  And,  now  that  I  am  clothed  as  thou 
wert  clothed,  it  seemeth  I  should  be  able  the  more  nearly  to 
feel  as  thou  didst  when  the  brute  soldier —  Hark  ye,  is  not 
this  a  bruise  upon  your  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes;  but  it  is  a  slight  thing,  and  your  worship  knoweth 
that  the  poor  man-at-arms" — 

"  Peace  !  It  was  a  shameful  thing  and  a  cruel  !  "  cried  the 
little  prince,  stamping  his  bare  foot.  "  If  the  King —  Stir 
not  a  step  till  I  come  again  !  It  is  a  command  !  " 

In  a  moment  he  had  snatched  up  and  put  away  an  article 
of  national  importance  that  lay  upon  a  table,  and  was  out  at 
the  door  and  flying  through  the  palace  grounds  in  his  ban 
nered  rags,  with  a  hot  face  and  glowing  eyes.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  the  great  gate,  he  seized  the  bars,  and  tried  to  shake 
them,  shouting, — 

"  Open  !     Unbar  the  gates  !  " 

The  soldier  that  had  maltreated  Tom  obeyed  promptly  ; 
and  as  the  prince  burst  through  the  portal,  half-smothered 
with  royal  wrath,  the  soldier  fetched  him  a  sounding  box  on 
the  ear  that  sent  him  whirling  to  the  roadway,  and  said,— 

"  Take  that,  thou  beggar's  spawn,  for  what  thou  got'st  me 
from  his  Highness  !  " 

The  crowd  roared  with  laughter.  The  prince  picked  him 
self  out  of  the  mud,  and  made  fiercely  at  the  sentry,  shout 
ing,— 

"  I  am  the  Prince  of  Wales,  my  person  is  sacred  ;  and 
thou  shalt  hang  for  laying  thy  hand  upon  me  !  " 


TOM'S   MEETING   WITH   THE   PRINCE.  35 

The  soldier  brought  his  halberd  to  a  present-arms  and  said 
mockingly, — 

"  I  salute  your  gracious  Highness."  Then  angrily,  "  Be 
off,  thou  crazy  rubbish  !  " 

Here  the  jeering  crowd  closed  around  the  poor  little  prince, 
and  hustled  him  far  down  the  road,  hooting  him,  and  shout 
ing,  "Way  for  his  royal  Highness  !  way  for  the  Prince  of 
Wales  ! " 


CHAPTER   IV. 


AFTER  hours  of  persistent  pursuit  and  persecution,  the  little 
prince  was  at  last  deserted  by  the  rabble  and  left  to  himself. 
As  long  as  he  had  been  able  to  rage  against  the  mob,  and 
threaten  it  royally,  and  royally  utter  commands  that  were 
good  stuff  to  laugh  at,  he  was  very  entertaining;  but  when 
weariness  finally  forced  him  to  be  silent,  he  was  no  longer  of 
use  to  his  tormentors,  and  they  sought  amusement  elsewhere. 
He  looked  about  him,  now,  but  could  not  recognize  the  local 
ity.  He  was  within  the  city  of  London — that  was  all  he 
knew.  He  moved  on,  aimlessly,  and  in  a  little  while  the 
houses  thinned,  and  the  passers-by  were  infrequent.  He 
bathed  his  bleeding  feet  in  the  brook  which  flowed  then  where 
Farringdon  street  now  is;  rested  a  few  moments,  then  passed 
on,  and  presently  came  upon  a  great  space  with  only  a  few 
scattered  houses  in  it,  and  a  prodigious  church.  He  recog 
nized  this  church.  Scaffoldings  were  about,  everywhere,  and 
swarms  of  workmen;  for  it  was  undergoing  elaborate  repairs. 
The  prince  took  heart  at  once — he  felt  that  his  troubles  were 
at  an  end,  now.  He  said  to  himself,  "  It  is  the  ancient  Grey 
Friars'  church,  which  the  king  my  father  hath  taken  from 
the  monks  and  given  for  a  home  forever  for  poor  and  for 
saken  children,  and  new-named  it  Christ's  Church.  Right 
gladly  will  they  serve  the  son  of  him  who  hath  done  so  gen 
erously  by  them — and  the  more  that  that  son  is  himself  as 
poor  and  as  forlorn  as  any  that  be  sheltered  here  this  day, 
or  ever  shall  be." 

36 


THE   PRINCE'S   TROUBLES   BEGIN. 


37 


He  was  soon  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  boys  who  were 
running,  jumping,  playing  at  ball  and  leap-frog  and  other 
wise  disporting  themselves,  and  right  noisily,  too.  They 
were  all  dressed  alike,  and  in  the  fashion  which  in  that  day 
prevailed  among  serving-men  and  'prentices* — that  is  to  say, 


"  SET   UPON   BY   DOGS." 

each  had  on  the  crown  of  his  head  a  flat  black  cap  about  the 
size  of  a  saucer,  which  was  not  useful  as  a  covering,  it  being 
of  such  scanty  dimensions,  neither  was  it  ornamental; 
from  beneath  it  the  hair  fell,  unparted,  to  the  middle  of 
the  forehead,  and  was  cropped  straight  around  ;  a  clerical 
*  See  Note  i,  at  end  of  "the  volume. 


38  THE  PRINCE'S  TROUBLES  BEGIN. 

band  at  the  neck  ;  a  blue  gown  that  fitted  closely  and  hung 
as  low  as  the  knees  or  lower  ;  full  sleeves  ;  a  broad  red  belt  ; 
bright  yellow  stockings,  gartered  above  the  knees  ;  low  shoes 
with  large  metal  buckles.  It  was  a  sufficiently  ugly  costume. 

The  boys  stopped  their  play  and  flocked  about  the  prince, 
who  said  with  native  dignity — 

"  Good  lads,  say  to  your  master  that  Edward  Prince  of 
Wales  desireth  speech  with  him." 

A  great  shout  went  up,  at  this,  and  one  rude  fellow 
said — 

"  Marry,  art  thou  his  grace's  messenger,  beggar  ?  " 

The  prince's  face  flushed  with  anger,  and  his  ready  hand 
flew  to  his  hip,  but  there  was  nothing  there.  There  was  a 
storm  of  laughter,  and  one  boy  said — 

"  Didst  mark  that  ?  He  fancied  he  had  a  sword — belike  he 
is  the  prince  himself." 

This  sally  brought  more  laughter.  Poor  Edward  drew  him 
self  up  proudly  and  said — 

"  I  am  the  prince  ;  and  it  ill  beseemeth  you  that  feed  upon 
the  king  my  father's  bounty  to  use  me  so." 

This  was  vastly  enjoyed,  as  the  laughter  testified.  The 
youth  who  had  first  spoken,  shouted  to  his  comrades — 

"  Ho,  swine,  slaves,  pensioners  of  his  grace's  princely  fa 
ther,  where  be  your  manners  ?  Down  on  your  marrow  bones, 
all  of  ye,  and  do  reverence  to  his  kingly  port  and  royal 
rags  !  " 

With  boisterous  mirth  they  dropped  upon  their  knees  in  a 
body  and  did  mock  homage  to  their  prey.  The  prince 
spurned  the  nearest  boy  with  his  foot,  and  said  fiercely — 

"  Take  thou  that,  till  the  morrow  come  and  I  build  thee 
a  gibbet  !  " 

Ah,  but  this  was  not  a  joke — this  was  going  beyond  fun. 
The  laughter  ceased  on  the  instant,  and  fury  took  its  place. 
A  dozen  shouted — 


THE  PRINCE'S  TROUBLES  BEGIN. 


39 


"  Hale  him  forth  !  To  the  horse-pond,  to  the  horse-pond  ! 
Where  be  the  dogs  ?  Ho,  there,  Lion  !  ho,  Fangs  !  " 

Then  followed  such  a  thing  as  England  had  never  seen  be 
fore — the  sacred  person  of  the  heir  to  the  throne  rudely  buf- 


"A   DRUNKEN   RUFFIAN   COLLARED    HIM." 

feted  by  plebeian  hands,  and  set  upon  and  torn  by  dogs. 

As  night  drew  to  a  close  that  day,  the  prince  found  him 
self  far  down  in  the  close-built  portion  of  the  city.  His  body 
was  bruised,  his  hands  were  bleeding,  and  his  rags  were  all 


4O  THE  PRINCE'S  TROUBLES  BEGIN. 

besmirched  with  mud.  He  wandered  on  and  on,  and  grew 
more  and  more  bewildered,  and  so  tired  and  faint  he  could 
hardly  drag  one  foot  after  the  other.  He  had  ceased  to  ask 
questions  of  any  one,  since  they  brought  him  only  insult  in 
stead  of  information.  He  kept  muttering  to  himself,  "  Offal 
court— that  is  the  name  ;  if  I  can  but  find  it  before  my 
strength  is  wholly  spent  and  I  drop,  then  am  I  saved — for 
his  people  will  take  me  to  the  palace  and  prove  that  I  am 
none  of  theirs,  but  the  true  prince,  and  I  shall  have  mine  own 
again."  And  now  and  then  his  mind  reverted  to  his  treat 
ment  by  those  rude  Christ's  Hospital  boys,  and  he  said, 
"  When  I  am  king,  they  shall  not  have  bread  and  shelter 
only,  but  also  teachings  out  of  books  ;  fora  full  belly  is  little 
worth  where  the  mind  is  starved,  and  the  heart.  I  will  keep 
this  diligently  in  my  remembrance,  that  this  day's  lesson  be 
not  lost  upon  me,  and  my  people  suffer  thereby;  for  learning 
softeneth  the  heart  and  breedeth  gentleness  and  charity."  * 

The  lights  began  to  twinkle,  it  came  on  to  rain,  the  wind 
rose,  and  a  raw  and  gusty  night  set  in.  The  houseless  prince, 
the  homeless  heir  to  the  throne  of  England,  still  moved  on, 
drifting  deeper  into  the  maze  of  squalid  alleys  where  the 
swarming  hives  of  poverty  and  misery  were  massed  together. 

Suddenly  a  great  drunken  ruffian  collared  him  and  said — 

"  Out  to  this  time  of  night  again,  and  hast  not  brought  a 
farthing  home,  I  warrant  me  !  If  it  be  so,  an'  I  do  not  break 
all  the  bones  in  thy  lean  body,  then  am  I  not  John  Canty, 
but  some  other." 

The  prince  twisted  himself  loose,  unconsciously  brushed 
his  profaned  shoulder,  and  eagerly  said — 

"O,  art  his  father,  truly  ?  Sweet  heaven  grant  it  be  so— 
then  wilt  thou  fetch  him  away  and  restore  me  !  " 

"  His  father  ?     I  know  not  what  thou  mean'st  ;  I  but  know 
I  am  thy  father,  as  thou  shalt  soon  have  cause  to  " — 
*  See    Note  2,  at  end  of  the  volume. 


THE  PRINCE'S  TROUBLES  BEGIN.  41 

"  O,  jest  not,  palter  not,  delay  not  ! — I  am  worn,  I  am 
wounded,  I  can  bear  no  more.  Take  me  to  the  king  my  fa 
ther,  and  he  will  make  thee  rich  beyond  thy  wildest  dreams. 
Believe  me,  man,  believe  me  ! — I  speak  no  lie,  but  only  the 
truth  ! — put  forth  thy  hand  and  save  me  !  I  am  indeed  the 
Prince  of  Wales  !  " 

The  man  stared  down,  stupefied,  upon  the  lad,  then  shook 
his  head  and  muttered — 

"Gone  stark  mad  as  any  Tom  o'  Bedlam  !" — then  col 
lared  him  once  more,  and  said  with  a  coarse  laugh  and  an 
oath,  "  But  mad  or  no  mad,  I  and  thy  Gammer  Canty  will 
soon  find  where  the  soft  places  in  thy  bones  lie,  or  I'm  no 
true  man  ! " 

With  this  he  dragged  the  frantic  and  struggling  prince 
away,  and  disappeared  up  a  front  court  followed  by  a  de 
lighted  and  noisy  swarm  of  human  vermin. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TOM    AS    A    PATRICIAN. 

TOM  CANTY,  left  alone  in  the  prince's  cabinet,  made  good 
use  of  his  opportunity.  He  turned  himself  this  way  and  that 
before  the  great  mirror,  admiring  his  finery  ;  then  walked 
away,  imitating  the  prince's  high-bred  carriage,  and  still  ob 
serving  results  in  the  glass.  Next  he  drew  the  beautiful 
sword,  and  bowed,  kissing  the  blade,  and  laying  it  across  his 
breast,  as  he  had  seen  a  noble  knight  do,  by  way  of  salute  to 
the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  five  or  six  weeks  before,  when 
delivering  the  great  lords  of  Norfolk  and  Surrey  into  his  hands 
for  captivity.  Tom  played  with  the  jewelled  dagger  that 
hung  upon  his  thigh  ;  he  examined  the  costly  and  exquisite 
ornaments  of  the  room  ;  he  tried  each  of  the  sumptuous  chairs, 
and  thought  how  proud  he  would  be  if  the  Offal  Court  herd 
could  only  peep  in  and  see  him  in  his  grandeur.  He  won 
dered  if  they  would  believe  the  marvellous  tale  he  should 
tell  when  he  got  home,  or  if  they  would  shake  their  heads,  and 
say  his  overtaxed  imagination  had  at  last  upset  his  reason. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  the  prince  was  gone  a  long  time  ;  then  right  away  he 
began  to  feel  lonely  ;  very  soon  he  fell  to  listening  and  long 
ing,  and  ceased  to  toy  with  the  pretty  things  about  him  ;  he 
grew  uneasy,  then  restless,  then  distressed.  Suppose  some 
one  should  come,  and  catch  him  in  the  prince's  clothes,  and 
the  prince  not  there  to  explain.  Might  they  not  hang  him  at 
once,  and  inquire  into  his  case  afterward  ?  He  had  heard 
that  the  great  were  prompt  about  small  matters.  His  fears 
rose  higher  and  higher  ;  and  trembling  he  softly  opened  the 

42 


TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN. 


43 


door  to  the  antechamber,  resolved  to  fly  and  seek  the  prince, 
and,  through,  him,  protection  and  release.  Six  gorgeous  gen 
tlemen-servants  and  two  young  pages  of  high  degree,  clothed 

like  butterflies, 
sprung  to  their  feet, 
and  bowed  low  be 
fore  him.  He  step 
ped  quickly  back, 
and  shut  the  door. 
He  said, — 

t!  Oh,  they  mock 
at  me  !  They  will 
go  and  tell.  Oh  ! 
why  came  I  here  to 
castaway  my  life?" 

He  walked  up 
and  down  the  floor, 
filled  with  nameless 
fears,  listening, 
starting  at  every 
trifling  sound. 
Presently  the  door 
swung  open,  and  a 
silken  page  said, — 

"  The  Lady  Jane 
Grey." 

The  door  closed, 
and  a  sweet  young 
girl,  richly  clad, 
But  she  stopped  suddenly,  and  said  in 


NEXT    HF    DREW    THE    SWORD. 


bounded  toward  him. 
a  distressed  voice, — 

"  Oh,  what  aileth  thee,  my  lord  ?  " 

Tom's  breath  was   nearly  failing  him  ;  but  he  made  shift 
to  stammer  out, — 


44'  TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN. 

"  Ah,  be  merciful,  thou  !  In  sooth  I  am  no  lord,  but  only 
poor  Tom  Canty  of  Offal  Court  in  the  city.  Prithee  let  me 
see  the  prince,  and  he  will  of  his  grace  restore  to  me  my  rags, 
and  let  me  hence  unhurt.  Oh,  be  thou  merciful,  and  save 


me 


By  this  time  the  boy  was  on  his  knees,  and  supplicating 
with  his  eyes  and  uplifted  hands  as  well  as  with  his  tongue. 
The  young  girl  seemed  horror-stricken.  She  cried  out — 

"  O  my  lord,  on  thy  knees  ? — and  to  me  !  " 

Then  she  fled  away  in  fright  ;  and  Tom,  smitten  with  de 
spair,  sank  down,  murmuring— 

"  There  is  no  help,  there  is  no  hope.  Now  will  they  come 
and  take  me." 

Whilst  he  lay  there  benumbed  with  terror,  dreadful  tidings 
were  speeding  through  the  palace.  The  whisper,  for  it  was 
whispered  always,  flew  from  menial  to  menial,  from  lord  to 
lady,  down  all  the  long  corridors,  from  story  to  story,  from 
saloon  to  saloon,  "  The  prince  hath  gone  mad,  the  prince 
hath  gone  mad  !  "  Soon  every  saloon,  every  marble  hall,  had 
its  groups  of  glittering  lords  and  ladies,  and  other  groups  of 
dazzling  lesser  folk,  talking  earnestly  together  in  whispers, 
and  every  face  had  in  it  dismay.  Presently  a  splendid  offi 
cial  came  marching  by  these  groups,  making  solemn  procla 
mation, — 

"  IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  KING  . 

Let  none  list  to  this  false  and  foolish  matter,  upon  pain  of 
death,  nor  discuss  the  same,  nor  carry  it  abroad.  In  the 
name  of  the  King  !  " 

The  whisperings  ceased  as  suddenly  as  if  the  whisperers 
had  been  stricken  dumb. 

Soon  there  was  a  general  buzz  along  the  corridors,  of  "  The 
prince  !  See,  the  prince  comes  !  " 


TOM   AS  A   PATRICIAN. 


45 


Poor  Tom  came  slowly  walking  past  the  low-bowing  groups, 
trying  to  bow  in  return,  and  meekly  gazing  upon  his  strange 
surroundings  with  bewildered  and  pathetic  eyes.  Great  no 
bles  walked  upon  each  side  of  him,  making  him  lean  upon 
them,  and  so  steady  his  steps.  Be 
hind  him  followed  the  court-physi 
cians  and  some  servants. 

Presently  Tom  found  himself  in 
a  noble  apartment  of  the  palace,  and 
heard  the  door  close  behind  him. 
Around  him  stood  those  who  had 
come  with  him. 


"THE  BOY  WAS  ON  HIS  KNEES." 

Before  him,  at  a  little  distance,  reclined  a  very  large  and 
very  fat  man,  with  a  wide,  pulpy  face,  and  a  stern  expression, 
His  large  head  was  very  gray  ;  and  his  whiskers,  which  he 
wore  only  around  his  face,  like  a  frame,  were  gray  also.  His 
clothing  was  of  rich  stuff,  but  old,  and  slightly  frayed  in 


46  TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN. 

places.  One  of  his  swollen  legs  had  a  pillow  under  it,  and 
was  wrapped  in  bandages.  There  was  silence  now  ;  and 
there  was  no  head  there  but  was  bent  in  reverence,  except 
this  man's.  This  stern-countenanced  invalid  was  the  dread 
Henry  VIII.  He  said, — and  his  face  grew  gentle  as  he 
began  to  speak, — 

"  How  now,  my  lord  Edward,  my  prince  ?  Hast  been 
minded  to  cozen  me,  the  good  King  thy  father,  who  loveth 
thee,  and  kindly  useth  thee,  with  a  sorry  jest  ?" 

Poor  Tom  was  listening,  as  well  as  his  dazed  faculties 
would  let  him,  to  the  beginning  of  this  speech  ;  but  when  the 
words  "  me  the  good  King"  fell  upon  his  ear,  his  face 
blanched,  and  he  dropped  as  instantly  upon  his  knees  as  if 
a  shot  had  brought  him  there.  Lifting  up  his  hands,  he  ex 
claimed,— 

"  Thou  the  King  ?     Then  am  I  undone  indeed  !  " 

This  speech  seemed  to  stun  the  King.  His  eyes  wandered 
from  face  to  face  aimlessly,  then  rested,  bewildered,  upon  the 
boy  before  him.  Then  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deep  disappoint 
ment, — 

"  Alack,  I  had  believed  the  rumor  disproportioned  to  the 
truth  ;  but  I  fear  me  'tis  not  so."  He  breathed  a  heavy  sigh, 
and  said  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  Come  to  thy  father,  child  :  thou 
art  not  well." 

Tom  was  assisted  to  his  feet,  and  approached  the  Majesty 
of  England,  humble  and  trembling.  The  King  took  the 
frightened  face  between  his  hands,  and  gazed  earnestly 
and  lovingly  into  it  awhile,  as  if  seeking  some  grateful 
sign  of  returning  reason  there,  then  pressed  the  curly 
head  against  his  breast,  and  patted  it  tenderly.  Presently 
he  said, — 

"  Dost  not  know  thy  father,  child?  Break  not  mine  old 
heart ;  say  thou  know'st  me.  Thou  dost  know  me,  dost  thou 
not?" 


TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN.  47 

"  Yea  :  thou  art  my  dread  lord  the  King,  whom  God  pre 
serve  !  " 

"  True,  true — that  is  well — be  comforted,  tremble  not  so  ; 
there  is  none  here  who  would  hurt  thee  ;  there  is  none  here 
but  loves  thee.  Thou  art  better  now  ;  thy  ill  dream  passeth 
— is't  not  so  ?  And  thou  knowest  thyself  now  also — is't  not 
so  ?  Thou  wilt  not  miscall  thyself  again,  as  they  say  thou 
didst  a  little  while  agone  ?  " 

"  I  pray  thee  of  thy  grace  believe  me,  I  did  but  speak  the 
truth,  most  dread  lord  ;  for  I  am  the  meanest  among  thy  sub 
jects,  being  a  pauper  born,  and  'tis  by  a  sore  mischance  and 
accident  I  am  here,  albeit  I  was  therein  nothing  blameful.  I 
am  but  young  to  die,  and  thou  canst  save  me  with  one  little 
word.  Oh  speak  it,  sir  !  " 

"  Die  ?  Talk  not  so,  sweet  prince — peace,  peace,  to  thy 
troubled  heart — thou  shalt  not  die  ! " 

Tom  dropped  upon  his  knees  with  a  glad  cry, — 

"  God  requite  thy  mercy,  oh  my  King,  and  save  thee  long 
to  bless  thy  land  ! "  Then  springing  up,  he  turned  a  joyful 
face  toward  the  two  lords  in  waiting,  and  exclaimed,  "  Thou 
heard'st  it  !  I  am  not  to  die  :  the  King  hath  said  it  !  " 
There  was  no  movement,  save  that  all  bowed  with  grave  re 
spect  ;  but  no  one  spoke.  He  hesitated,  a  little  confused, 
then  turned  timidly  toward  the  King,  saying,  "  I  may  go 
now  ?  " 

"  Go  ?  Surely,  if  thou  desirest.  But  why  not  tarry  yet  a 
little  ?  Whither  wouldst  go  ?  " 

Tom  dropped  his  eyes,  and  answered  humbly, — 

"  Peradventure  I  mistook  ;  but  I  did  think  me  free,  and  so 
was  I  moved  to  seek  again  the  kennel  where  I  was  born  and 
bred  to  misery,  yet  which  harboreth  my  mother  and  my  sis 
ters,  and  so  is  home  to  me  ;  whereas  these  pomps  and  splen 
dors  whereunto  I  am  not  used — oh,  please  you,  sir,  to  let 
me  go  ! ' 


48  TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN. 

The  King  was  silent  and  thoughtful  a  while,  and  his  face 
betrayed  a  growing  distress  and  uneasiness.  Presently  he 
said,  with  something  of  hope  in  his  voice, — 

"  Perchance  he  is  but  mad  upon  this  one  strain,  and  hath 
his  wits  unmarred  as  toucheth  other  matter.  God  send  it 
may  be  so  !  We  will  make  trial." 

Then  he  asked  Tom  a  question  in  Latin,  and  Tom  answered 
him  lamely  in  the  same  tongue.  The  King  was  delighted,  and 
showed  it.  The  lords  and  doctors  manifested  their  gratifi 
cation  also.  The  King  said, — 

"  'Twas  not  according  to  his  schooling  and  ability,  but 
sheweth  that  his  mind  is  but  diseased,  not  stricken  fatally. 
How  say  you,  sir  ?  " 

The  physician  addressed  bowed  low,  and  replied, — 

"  It  jumpeth  with  mine  own  conviction,  sire,  thatthou  hast 
divined  aright." 

The  King  looked  pleased  with  this  encouragement,  coming 
as  it  did  from  so  excellent  authority,  and  continued  with  good 
heart,— 

"  Now  mark  ye  all  :  we  will  try  him  further." 

He  put  a  question  to  Tom  in  French.  Tom  stood  silent  a 
moment,  embarrassed  by  having  so  many  eyes  centred  upon 
him,  then  said  diffidently,— 

"  I  have  no  knowledge  of  this  tongue,  so  please  your  maj 
esty." 

The  King  fell  back  upon  his  couch.  The  attendants  flew 
to  his  assistance  ;  but  he  put  them  aside,  and  said, — 

"Trouble  me  not — it  is  nothing  but  a  scurvy  faintness. 
Raise  me  !  there,  'tis  sufficient.  Come  hither,  child  ;  there, 
rest  thy  poor  troubled  head  upon  thy  father's  heart,  and  be 
at  peace.  Thou'lt  soon  be  well  ;  'tis  but  a  passing  fantasy. 
Fear  thou  not  ;  thou'lt  soon  be  well."  Then  he  turned  tow 
ard  the  company  :  his  gentle  manner  changed,  and  baleful 
lightnings  began  to  play  from  his  eyes.  He  said, — 


TOM   AS   A   TATRICIAN. 


49 


"  List  ye  all  I  This  my  son  is  mad  ;  but  it  is  not  perma 
nent.  Over-study  hath  done  this,  and  somewhat  too  much  of 
confinement.  Away  with  his  books  and  teachers  !  see  ye  to 
it.  Pleasure  him  with  sports,  beguile  him  in  wholesome 
ways,  so  that  his  health  come  again."  He  raised  himself 
higher  still,  and  went  on  with  energy,  "  He  is  mad  ;  but  he 


"IS   THIS   MAN   TO    LIVE   FOREVER?" 

is  my  son,  and  England's  heir  ;  and,  mad  or  sane,  still  shall  he 
reign  !  And  hear  ye  further,  and  proclaim  it  :  whoso  speak- 
eth  of  this  his  distemper  worketh  against  the  peace  and  order 
of  these  realms,  and  shall  to  the  gallows  !  .  .  .  Give  me  to 
drink — I  burn  :  This  sorrow  sappeth  my  strength.  .  .  . 
There,  take  away  the  cup.  .  .  .  Support  me.  There,  that 


5O  TOM  AS  A  PATRICIAN. 

is  well.  Mad,  is  he  ?  Were  he  a  thousand  times  mad,  yet  is 
he  Prince  of  Wales,  and  I  the  King  will  confirm  it.  This  very 
morrow  shall  he  be  installed  in  his  princely  dignity  in  due  and 
ancient  form.  Take  instant  order  for  it,  my  lord  Hertford." 

One  of  the  nobles  knelt  at  the  royal  couch,  and  said,— 

"The  King's  majesty  knoweth  that  the  Hereditary  Great 
Marshal  of  England  lieth  attainted  in  the  Tower.  It  were 
not  meet  that  one  attainted  "— 

"  Peace  !  Insult  not  mine  ears  with  his  hated  name.  Is 
this  man  to  live  forever  ?  Am  I  to  be  balked  of  my  will  ?  Is 
the  prince  to  tarry  uninstalled,  because,  forsooth,  the  realm 
lacketh  an  earl  marshal  free  of  treasonable  taint  to  invest 
him  with  his  honors  ?  No,  by  the  splendor  of  God  !  Warn 
my  parliament  to  bring  me  Norfolk's  doom  before  the  sun 
rise  again,  else  shall  they  answer  for  it  grievously  !  "  * 

Lord  Hertford  said,— 

"  The  King's  will  is  law  ;"  and,  rising,  returned  to  his  for 
mer  place. 

Gradually  the  wrath  faded  out  of  the  old  King's  face,  and 
he  said,— 

"  Kiss  me,  my  prince.  There  .  .  .  what  fearest  thou  ?  Am 
I  not  thy  loving  father  ?  " 

"Thou  art  good  to  me  that  am  unworthy,  O  mighty  and 
gracious  lord  :  that  in  truth  I  know.  But — but — it  grieveth 
me  to  think  of  him  that  is  to  die,  and  " — 

"  Ah,  'tis  like  thee,  'tis  like  thee  !  I  know  thy  heart  is  still 
the  same,  even  though  thy  mind  hath  suffered  hurt,  for  thou 
wert  ever  of  a  gentle  spirit.  But  this  duke  standeth  between 
thee  and  thine  honors  :  I  will  have  another  in  his  stead  that 
shall  bring  no  taint  to  his  great  office.  Comfort  thee,  my 
prince  :  trouble  not  thy  poor  head  with  this  matter." 

"  But  is  it  not  I  that  speed  him  hence,  my  liege  ?  How 
long  might  he  not  live,  but  for  me  ?  " 

*  See  Note   3,  at  end  of  the  volume. 


TOM   AS   A   PATRICIAN.  51 

"  Take  no  thought  of  him,  my  prince  :  he  is  not  worthy. 
Kiss  me  once  again,  and  go  to  thy  trifles  and  amusements  ; 
for  my  malady  distresseth  me.  I  am  aweary,  and  would  rest. 
Go  with  thine  uncle  Hertford  and  thy  people,  and  come 
again  when  my  body  is  refreshed." 

Tom,  heavy-hearted,  was  conducted  from  the  presence,  for 
this  last  sentence  was  a  death-blow  to  the  hope  he  had  cher 
ished  that  now  he  would  be  set  free.  Once  more  he  heard  the 
buzz  of  low  voices  exclaiming,  "  The  prince,  the  prince 
comes  !  " 

His  spirits  sank  lower  and  lower  as  he  moved  between  the 
glittering  files  of  bowing  courtiers  ;  for  he  recognized  that 
he  was  indeed  a  captive  now,  and  might  remain  forever  shut 
up  in  this  gilded  cage,  a  forlorn  and  friendless  prince,  except 
God  in  his  mercy  take  pity  on  him  and  set  him  free. 

And,  turn  where  he  would,  he  seemed  to  see  floating  in  the 
air  the  severed  head  and  the  remembered  face  of  the  great 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  eyes  fixed  on  him  reproachfully. 

His  old  dreams  had  been  so  pleasant ;  but  this  reality  was 
so  dreary  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TOM    RECEIVES     INSTRUCTIONS 

TOM  was  conducted  to  the  principal  apartment  of  a  noble 
suite,  and  made  to  sit  down — a  thing  which  he  was  loath 
to  do,  since  there  were  elderly  men  and  men  of  high  degree 
about  him.  He  begged  them  to  be  seated,  also,  but  they 
only  bowed  their  thanks  or  murmured  them,  and  remained 
standing.  He  would  have  insisted,  but  his  "  uncle"  the  earl 
of  Hertford  whispered  in  his  ear — 

"Prithee,  insist  not,  my  lord  ;  it  is  not  meet  that  they  sit 
in  thy  presence." 

The  lord  St.  John  was  announced,  and  after  making  obei 
sance  to  Tom,  he  said — 

"  I  come  upon  the  king's  errand,  concerning  a  matter 
which  requireth  privacy.  Will  it  please  your  royal  highness 
to  dismiss  all  that  attend  you  here,  save  my  lord  the  earl  of 
Hertford  ?  " 

Observing  that  Tom  did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  proceed, 
Hertford  whispered  him  to  make  a  sign  with  his  hand  and 
not  trouble  himself  to  speak  unless  he  chose.  When  the 
waiting  gentlemen  had  retired,  lord  St.  John  said— 

"  His  majesty  commandeth,  that  for  due  and  weighty  rea 
sons  of  state,  the  prince's  grace  shall  hide  his  infirmity  in  all 
ways  that  be  within  his  power,  till  it  be  passed  and  he  be  as 
he  was  before.  To  wit,  that  he  shall  deny  to  none  that  he  is 
the  true  prince,  and  heir  to  England's  greatness  ;  that  he 
shall  uphold  his  princely  dignity,  and  shall  receive,  with 
out  word  or  sign  of  protest,  that  reverence  and  observ- 

52 


TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS.  53 

ance  which  unto  it  do  appertain  of  right  and  ancient  usage  ; 
that  he  shall  cease  to  speak  to  any  of  that  lowly  birth  and  life 
his  malady  hath  conjured  out  of  the  unwholesome  imaginings 
of  o'erwrought  fancy  ;  that  he  shall  strive  with  diligence  to 
bring  unto  his  memory  again  those  faces  which  he  was  wont 
to  know — and  where  he  faileth  he  shall  hold  his  peace,  neither 
betraying  by  semblance  of  surprise,  or  other  sign,  that  he 
hath  forgot  ;  that  upon  occasions  of  state,  whensoever  any 
matter  shall  perplex  him  as  to  the  thing  he  should  do  or  the 
utterance  he  should  make,  he  shall  show  nought  of  unrest 
to  the  curious  that  look  on,  but  take  advice  in  that  matter  of 
the  lord  Hertford,  or  my  humble  self,  which  are  commanded 
of  the  king  to  be  upon  this  service  and  close  at  call,  till  this 
commandment  be  dissolved.  Thus  saith  the  king's  majesty, 
who  sendeth  greeting  to  your  royal  highness  and  prayeth  that 
God  will  of  His  mercy  quickly  heal  you  and  have  you  now 
and  ever  in  his  holy  keeping." 

The  lord  St.  John  made  reverence  and  stood  aside.  Tom 
replied,  resignedly — 

"The  king  hath  said  it.  None  may  palter  with  the  king's 
command,  or  fit  it  to  his  ease,  where  it  doth  chafe,  with  deft 
evasions.  The  king  shall  be  obeyed." 

Lord  Hertford  said — 

"Touching  the  king's  majesty's  ordainment  concerning 
books  and  such  like  serious  matters,  it  may  peradventure 
please  your  highness  to  ease  your  time  with  lightsome  enter 
tainment,  lest  you  go  wearied  to  the  banquet  and  suffer  harm 
thereby." 

Tom's  face  showed  enquiring  surprise  ;  and  a  blush  fol 
lowed  when  he  saw  lord  St.  John's  eyes  bent  sorrowfully 
upon  him.  His  lordship  said— 

"Thy  memory  still  wrongeth  thee,  and  thou  hast  shown 
surprise — but  suffer  it  not  to  trouble  thee,  for  'tis  a  matter 
that  will  not  bide,  but  depart  with  thy  mending  malady.  My 


54  TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

lord  of  Hertford  speaketh  of  the  city's  banquet  which  the 
king's  majesty  did  promise  two  months  flown,  your  highness 
should  attend.  Thou  recallest  it  now  ?  " 

"It  grieves  me  to  confess  it  had  indeed  escaped  me, "said 
Tom,  in  a  hesitating  voice  ;  and  blushed  again. 

At  that  moment  the  lady  Elizabeth  and  the  lady  Jane 
Grey  were  announced.  The  two  lords  exchanged  significant 
glances,  and  Hertford  stepped  quickly  toward  the  door.  As 
the  young  girls  passed  him,  he  said  in  a  low  voice — 

"  I  pray  ye,  ladies,  seem  not  to  observe  his  humors,  nor 
show  surprise  when  his  memory  doth  lapse — it  will  grieve  you 
to  note  how  it  doth  stick  at  every  trifle." 

Meanwhile  lord  St.  John  was  saying  in  Tom's  ear — 

"  Please  you  sir,  keep  diligently  in  mind  his  majesty's  de 
sire.  Remember  all  thou  canst — Seem  to  remember  all  else. 
Let  them  not  perceive  that  thou  art  much  changed  from  thy 
wont,  for  thou  knowest  how  tenderly  thy  old  play-fellows 
bear  thee  in  their  hearts  and  how  'twould  grieve  them.  Art 
willing,  sir,  that  I  remain  ? — and  thine  uncle  ?  " 

Tom  signified  assent  with  a  gesture  and  a  murmured  word, 
for  he  was  already  learning,  and  in  his  simple  heart  was  re 
solved  to  acquit  himself  as  best  he  might,  according  to  the 
king's  command. 

In  spite  of  every  precaution,  the  conversation  among  the 
young  people  became  a  little  embarrassing,  at  times.  More 
than  once,  in  truth,  Tom  was  near  to  breaking  down  and 
confessing  himself  unequal  to  his  tremendous  part  ;  but  the 
tact  of  the  princess  Elizabeth  saved  him,  or  a  word  from  one 
or  the  other  of  the  vigilant  lords,  thrown  in  apparently  by 
chance,  had  the  same  happy  effect.  Once  the  little  lady  Jane 
turned  to  Tom  and  dismayed  him  with  this  question — 

"  Hast  paid  thy  duty  to  the  queen's  majesty  to-day,  my 
lord?" 

Tom  hesitated,  looked  distressed,  and  was  about  to  stam- 


TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 


55 


mer  out  something  at  hazard,  when  lord  St.  John  took  the 
word  and  answered  for  him  with  the  easy  grace  of  a  courtier 
accustomed  to  encounter  delicate  difficulties  and  to  be  ready 
for  them — 

"  He  hath   indeed,  madam,  and  she  did  greatly  hearten 


HERTFORD    AND    THE    PRINCESSES. 

him,  as  touching  his  majesty's  condition  ;  is  it  not  so,  your 
highness?  " 

Tom  mumbled  something  that  stood  for  assent,  but  felt 
that  he  was  getting  upon  dangerous  ground.  Somewhat  later 
it  was  mentioned  that  Tom  was  to  study  no  more  at  present, 
whereupon  her  little  ladyship  exclaimed — 


56  TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

"'Tis  a  pity,  'tis  such  a  pity  !  Thou  wert  proceeding 
bravely.  But  bide  thy  time  in  patience  ;  it  will  not  be  for 
long.  Thou'lt  yet  be  graced  with  learning  like  thy  father, 
and  make  thy  tongue  master  of  as  many  languages  as  his, 
good  my  prince." 

4  My  father  !  "  cried  Tom,  off  his  guard  for  the  moment. 
"  I  trow  he  cannot  speak  his  own  so  that  any  but  the  swine 
that  wallow  in  the  styes  may  tell  his  meaning  ;  and  as  for 
learning  of  any  sort  soever  "- 

He  looked  up  and  encountered  a  solemn  warning  in  my 
lord  St.  John's  eyes. 

He  stopped,  blushed,  then  continued  low  and  sadly  :  "  Ah, 
my  malady  persecuteth  me  again,  and  my  mind  wandereth. 
I  meant  the  king's  grace  no  irreverence." 

"We  know  it,  sir,"  said  the  princess  Elizabeth,  taking  her 
"  brother's  "  hand  between  her  two  palms,  respectfully  but 
caressingly  ;  "  trouble  not  thyself  as  to  that.  The  fault  is 
none  of  thine,  but  thy  distemper's." 

"  Thou'rt  a  gentle  comforter,  sweet  lady,"  said  Tom, 
gratefully,  "  and  my  heart  movethme  to  thank  thee  for't,  an' 
I  may  be  so  bold." 

Once  the  giddy  little  lady  Jane  fired  a  simple  Greek  phrase 
at  Tom.  The  princess  Elizabeth's  quick  eye  saw  by  the 
serene  blankness  of  the  target's  front  that  the  shaft  was  over 
shot  ;  so  she  tranquilly  delivered  a  return  volley  of  sound 
ing  Greek  on  Tom's  behalf,  and  then  straightway  changed 
the  talk  to  other  matters. 

Time  wore  on  pleasantly,  and  likewise  smoothly,  on  the 
whole.  Snags  and  sandbars  grew  less  and  less  frequent,  and 
Tom  grew  more  and  more  at  his  ease,  seeing  that  all  were  so 
lovingly  bent  upon  helping  him  and  overlooking  his  mistakes. 
When  it  came  out  that  the  little  ladies  were  to  accompany 
him  to  the  Lord  Mayor's  banquet  in  the  evening,  his  heart 
gave  a  bound  of  relief  and  delight,  for  he  felt  that  he  should 


TOM    RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS.  57 

not  he  friendless,  now,  among-  that  multitude  of  strangers, 
whereas,  an  hour  earlier,  the  idea  of  their  going  with  him 
would  have  been  an  insupportable  terror  to  him. 

Tom's  guardian  angels,  the  two  ^ords,  had  had  less  comfort 
in  the  interview  than  the  other  parties  to  it.  They  felt  much 
as  if  they  were  piloting  a  great  ship  through  a  dangerous  chan 
nel  ;  they  were  on  the  alert  constantly,  and  found  their  office 
no  child's  play.  Wherefore,  at  last,  when  the  ladies'  visit 
was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the  lord  Guilford  Dudley  was  an 
nounced,  they  not  only  felt  that  their  charge  had  been  suffi 
ciently  taxed  for  the  present,  but  also  that  they  themselves 
were  not  in  the  best  condition  to  take  their  ship  back  and 
make  their  anxious  voyage  all  over  again.  So  they  respect 
fully  advised  Tom  to  excuse  himself,  which  he  was  very  glad 
to  do,  although  a  slight  shade  of  disappointment  might  have 
been  observed  upon  my  lady  Jane's  face  when  she  heard  the 
splendid  stripling  denied  admittance. 

There  was  a  pause,  now,  a  sort  of  waiting  silence  which 
Tom  could  not  understand.  He  glanced  at  lord  Hertford, 
who  gave  him  a  sign — but  he  failed  to  understand  that,  also. 
The  ready  Elizabeth  came  to  the  rescue  with  her  usual  easy 
grace.  She  made  reverence  and  said, — 

"  Have  we  leave  of  the  prince's  grace  my  brother  to  go  ?  " 

Tom   said — 

"  Indeed  your  ladyships  can  have- whatsoever  of  me  they 
will,  for  the  asking  ;  yet  would  I  rather  give  them  any  other 
thing  that  in  my  poor  power  lieth,  than  leave  to  take  the  light 
and  blessing  of  their  presence  hence.  Give  ye  good  den, 
and  God  be  with  ye  !  "  Then  he  smiled  inwardly  at  the 
thought,  "'tis  not  for  nought  I  have  dwelt  but  among  princes 
in  my  reading,  and  taught  my  tongue  some  slight  trick  of 
their  broidered  and  gracious  speech  withal  !  " 

When  the  illustrious  maidens  were  gone,  Tom  turned  wea 
rily  to  his  keepers  and  said — 


58  TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

"  May  it  please  your  lordships  to  grant  me  leave  to  go  into 
some  corner  and  rest  me?" 

Lord  Hertford  said — 

"  So  please  your  highness,  it  is  for  you  to  command,  it  is 
for  us  to  obey.  That  thou  should st  rest,  is  indeed  a  needful 
thing,  since  thou  must  journey  to  the  city  presently." 

He  touched  a  bell,  and  a  page  appeared,  who  was  ordered 
to  desire  the  presence  of  Sir  William  Herbert.  This  gentle 
man  came  straightway,  and  conducted  Tom  to  an  inner 
apartment.  Tom's  first  movement,  there,  was  to  reach 
for  a  cup  of  water  ;  but  a  silk-and-velvet  servitor  seized 
it,  dropped  upon  one  knee,  and  offered  it  to  him  on  a  golden 
salver. 

Next,  the  tired  captive  sat  down  and  was  going  to  take  off 
his  buskins,  timidly  asking  leave  with  his  eye,  but  another 
silk-and-velvet  discomforter  went  down  upon  his  knees  and 
took  the  office  from  him.  He  made  two  or  three  further  ef 
forts  to  help  himself,  but  being  promptly  forestalled  each 
time,  he  finally  gave  up,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation  and  a  mur 
mured  "Beshrew  me  but  I  marvel  they  do  not  require  to 
breathe  for  me  also  !  "  Slippered,  and  wrapped  in  a  sumptu 
ous  robe,  he  laid  himself  down  at  last  to  rest,  but  not  to  sleep, 
for  his  head  was  too  full  of  thoughts  and  the  room  too  full  of 
people.  He  could  not  dismiss  the  former,  so  they  staid  ;  he 
did  not  know  enough  to  dismiss  the  latter,  so  they  staid 
also,  to  his  vast  regret,— and  theirs. 

Tom's  departure  had  left  his  two  noble  guardians  alone. 
They  mused  a  while,  with  much  head-shaking  and  walking 
the  floor,  then  lord  St.  John  said— 

"  Plainly,  what  dost  thou  think  ? " 

"  Plainly,  then,  this.  The  king  is  near  his  end,  my  nephew 
is  mad,  mad  will  mount  the  throne,  and  mad  remain.  God 
protect  England,  since  she  will  need  it  ! " 


TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS.  59 

"  Verily  it  promiseth  so,  indeed.  But  .  .  .  have  you  no 
misgivings  as  to  ...  as  to  "... 

The  speaker  hesitated,  and  finally  stopped.  He  evidently 
felt  that  he  was  upon  delicate  ground.  Lord  Hertford 
stopped  before  him,  looked  into  his  face  with  a  clear,  frank 
eye,  and  said — 

"  Speak  on — there  is  none  to  hear  but  me.  Misgivings  as 
to  what  ? " 

"  I  am  full  loath  to  word  the  thing  that  is  in  my  mind,  and 
thou  so  near  to  him  in  blood)((my  lord.  But  craving  pardon 
if  I  do  offend,  seemeth  it  not  strange  that  madness  could  so 
change  his  port  and  manner  ! — not  but  that  his  port  and 
speech  are  princely  still,  but  that  they  differ  m  one  unweighty 
trifle  or  another,  from  what  his  custom  was  aforetime. 
Seemeth  it  not  strange  that  madness  should  filch  from  his 
memory  his  father's  very  lineaments  ;  the  customs  and  ob 
servances  that  are  his  due  from  such  as  be  about  him  ;  and, 
leaving  him  his  Latin,  strip  him  of  his  Greek  and  French  ?  My 
lord,  be  not  offended,  but  ease  my  mind  of  its  disquiet  and 
receive  my  grateful  thanks.  It  haunteth  me,  his  saying  he 
was  not  the  prince,  and  so  " 

"  Peace,  my  lord,  thou  utterest  treason  !  Hast  forgot  the 
king's  command  ?  Remember  I  am  party  to  thy  crime,  if  I 
but  listen." 

Sti  John  paled,  and  hastened  to  say — 

"I  was  in  fault,  I  do  confess  it.  Betray  me  not,  grant  me 
this  grace  out  of  thy  courtesy,  and  I  will  neither  think  nor 
speak  of  this  thing  more.  Deal  not  hardly  with  me,  sir,  else 
am  I  ruined." 

"  I  am  content,  my  lord.  So  thou  offend  not  again,  here 
or  in  the  ears  of  others,  it  shall  be  as  though  thou  hadst  not 
spoken.  But  thou  needst  not  have  misgivings.  He  is  my 
sister's  son  ;  are  not  his  voice,  his  face,  his  form,  familiar  to 
me  from  his  cradle  ?  Madness  can  do  all  the  odd  conflicting 


60  TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

things  thou  seest  in  him,  and  more.  Dost  not  recall  how  that 
the  old  Baron  Marley,  being  mad,  forgot  the  favor  of  his  own 
countenance  that  he  had  known  for  sixty  years,  and  held  it 
was  another's  ;  nay,  even  claimed  he  was  the  son  of  Mary 
Magdalene,  and  that  his  head  was  made  of  Spanish  glass  ; 
and  sooth  to  say,  he  suffered  none  to  touch  it,  lest  by  mis 
chance  some  heedless  hand  might  shiver  it.  Give  thy  mis 
givings  easement,  good  my  lord.  This  is  the  very  prince,  I 
know  him  well — and  soon  will  be  thy  king ;  it  may  advan 
tage  thee  to  bear  this  in  mind  and  more  dwell  upon  it  than 
the  other." 

After  some  further  talk,  in  which  the  lord  St.  John  covered 
up  his  mistake  as  well  as  he  could  by  repeated  protests  that 
his  faith  was  thoroughly  grounded,  now,  and  could  not  be 
assailed  by  doubts  again,  the  lord  Hertford  relieved  his  fellow 
keeper,  and  sat  down  to  keep  watch  and  ward  alone.  He 
was  soon  deep  in  meditation.  And  evidently  the  longer  he 
thought,  the  more  he  was  bothered.  By  and  by  he  began  to 
pace  the  floor  and  mutter. 

"  Tush,  he  must  be  the  prince  !  Will  any  he  in  all  the  land 
maintain  there  can  be  two,  not  of  one  blood  and  birth,  so 
marvellously  twinned  ?  And  even  were  it  so,  'twere  yet  a 
stranger  miracle  that  chance  should  cast  the  one  into  the 
other's  place.  Nay,  'tis  folly,  folly,  folly!  " 

Presently  he  said— 

"  Now  were  he  impostor  and  called  himself  prince,  look 
you  that  would  be  natural;  that  would  be  reasonable.  But 
lived  ever  an  impostor  yet,  who,  being  called  prince  by  the 
king,  prince  by  the  court,  prince  by  all,  denied  his  dignity 
and  pleaded  against  his  exaltation  ?  No  !  By  the  soul  of 
St.  Swithin,  no  !  This  is  the  true  prince,  gone  mad  !  " 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TOM'S    FIRST    ROYAL    DINNER. 

SOMEWHAT  after  one  in  the  afternoon,  Tom  resignedly 
underwent  the  ordeal  of  being  dressed  for  dinner.  He  found 
himself  as  finely  clothed  as  before,  but  every  thing  different, 
every  thing  changed,  from  his  ruff  to  his  stockings.  He  was 
presently  conducted  with  much  state  to  a  spacious  and  ornate 
apartment,  where  a  table  was  already  set  for  one.  Its  furni 
ture  was  all  of  massy  gold,  and  beautified  with  designs  which 
well-nigh  made  it  priceless,  since  they  were  the  work  of  Ben- 
venuto.  The  room  was  half  rilled  with  noble  servitors.  A 
chaplain  said  grace,  and  Tom  was  about  to  fall  to,  for  hunger 
had  long  been  constitutional  with  him,  but  was  interrupted 
by  my  lord  the  Earl  of  Berkeley,  who  fastened  a  napkin  about 
his  neck  ;  for  the  great  post  of  Diaperers  to  the  Princes  of 
Wales  was  hereditary  in  this  nobleman's  family.  Tom's  cup 
bearer  was  present,  and  forestalled  all  his  attempts  to  help 
himself  to  wine.  The  Taster  to  his  highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales  was  there  also,  prepared  to  taste  any  suspicious  dish 
upon  requirement,  and  run  the  risk  of  being  poisoned.  He 
was  only  an  ornamental  appendage  at  this  time,  and  was  sel 
dom  called  upon  to  exercise  his  function;  but  there  had  been 
times,  not  many  generations  past,  when  the  office  of  taster 
had  its  perils,  and  was  not  a  grandeur  to  be  desired.  Why 
they  did  not  use  a  dog  or  a  plumber  seems  strange  ;  but  all 
the  ways  of  royalty  are  strange.  My  lord  d'Arcy,  First 
Groom  of  the  Chamber,  was  there,  to  do  goodness  knows 
what ;  but  there  he  was — let  that  suffice.  The  Lord  Chief 

61 


62  TOM'S   FIRST   ROYAL   DINNER. 

Butler  was  there,  and  stood  behind  Tom's  chair,  overseeing 
the  solemnities,  under  command  of  the  Lord  Great  Steward 
and  the  Lord  Head  Cook,  who  stood  near.  Tom  had  three 
hundred  and  eighty-four  servants  beside  these  ;  but  they 
were  not  all  in  that  room,  of  course,  nor  the  quarter  of  them  ; 
neither  was  Tom  aware  yet  that  they  existed. 

All  those  that  were  present  had  been  well  drilled  within  the 
hour  to  remember  that  the  prince  was  temporarily  out  of  his 
head,  and  to  be  careful  to  show  no  surprise  at  his  vagaries. 
These  "  vagaries  "  were  soon  on  exhibition  before  them  ; 
but  they  only  moved  their  compassion  and  their  sorrow, 
not  their  mirth.  It  was  a  heavy  affliction  to  them  to  see  the 
beloved  prince  so  stricken. 

Poor  Tom  ate  with  his  fingers  mainly  ;  but  no  one  smiled 
at  it,  or  even  seemed  to  observe  it.  He  inspected  his  napkin 
curiously,  and  with  deep  interest,  for  it  was  of  a  very  dainty 
and  beautiful  fabric,  then  said  with  simplicity,-— 

"  Prithee  take  it  away,  lest  in  mine  unheedfulness  it  be 
soiled." 

The  Hereditary  Diaperer  took  it  away  with  reverent  man 
ner,  and  without  word  or  protest  of  any  sort. 

Tom  examined  the  turnips  and  the  lettuce  with  interest, 
and  asked  what  they  were,  and  if  they  were  to  be  eaten  ;  for 
it  was  only  recently  that  men  had  begun  to  raise  these  things 
in  England  in  place  of  importing  them  as  luxuries  from  Hol 
land.*  His  question  was  answered  with  grave  respect,  and 
no  surprise  manifested.  When  he  had  finished  his  dessert, 
he  filled  his  pockets  with  nuts;  but  nobody  appeared  to  be 
aware  of  it,  or  disturbed  by  it.  But  the  next  moment  he  was 
himself  disturbed  by  it,  and  showed  discomposure  ;  for  this 
was  the  only  service  he  had  been  permitted  to  do  with 
his  own  hands  during  the  meal,  and  he  did  not  doubt  that  he 
had  done  a  most  improper  and  unprincely  thing.  At  that 
*  See  note  4,  at  end  of  volume. 


TOM  S   FIRST   ROYAL   DINNER.  63 

moment  the  muscles  of  his  nose  began  to  twitch,  and  the  end 
of  that  organ  to  lift  and  wrinkle.  This  continued,  and  Tom 
began  to  evince  a  growing  distress.  He  looked  appealingly, 


"TOM    ATE   WITH    HIS    FINGERS." 

first  at  one  and  then  another  of  the  lords  about  him,  and 
tears  came  into  his  eyes.  They  sprang  forward  with  dismay 
in  their  faces,  and  begged  to  know  his  trouble.  Tom  said 
with  genuine  anguish, — 


64  TOM'S   FIRST   ROYAL   DINNER. 

"  I  crave  your  indulgence  :  my  nose  itcheth  cruelly.  What 
is  the  custom  and  usage  in  this  emergence  ?  Prithee  speed, 
for  'tis  but  a  little  time  that  I  can  bear  it." 

None  smiled  ;  but  all  were  sore  perplexed,  and  looked  one 
to  the  other  in  deep  tribulation  for  counsel.  But  behold, 
here  was  a  dead  wall,  and  nothing  in  English  history  to  tell 
how  to  get  over  it.  The  Master  of  Ceremonies  was  not 


"TOM    GRAVELY   TOOK  A   DRAUGHT." 

present  :  there  was  no  one  who  felt  safe  to  venture  upon  this 
uncharted  sea,  or  risk  the  attempt  to  solve  this  solemn  prob 
lem.  Alas  !  there  was  no  Hereditary  Scratcher.  Meantime 
the  tears  had  overflowed  their  banks,  and  begun  to  trickle 
down  Tom's  cheeks.  His  twitching  nose  was  pleading  more 
urgently  than  ever  for  relief.  At  last  nature  broke  down 
the  barriers  of  etiquette  :  Tom  lifted  up  an  inward  prayer  for 


TOM'S   FIRST   ROYAL   DINNER.  65 

pardon  if  he  was  doing  wrong,  and  brought  relief  to  the  bur 
dened  hearts  o>f  his  court  by  scratching  his  nose  himself. 

His  meal  being  ended,  a  lard  came  and  held  before  him  a 
broad,  shallow,  golden  dish  with  fragrant  rose-water  in  it,  to 
cleanse  his  mouth  and  fingers  with  ;  and  my  lord  the  Hered 
itary  Diaperer  stood  by  with  a  napkin  for  his  use.  Tom 
gazed  at  the  dish  a  puzzled  moment  or  two,  then  raised  it  to 
his  lips,  and  gravely  took  a  draught.  Then  he  returned  it  to 
the  waiting  lord,  and  said, — 

"  Nay,  it  likes  me  not,  my  lord  :  it  hath  a  pretty  flavor, 
but  it  wanteth  strength." 

This  new  eccentricity  of  the  prince's  ruined  mind  made  all 
the  hearts  about  him  ache  ;  but  the  sad  sight  moved  none  to 
merriment. 

Tom's  next  unconscious  blunder  was  to  get  up  and  leave  the 
table  just  when  the  chaplain  had  taken  his  stand  behind  his 
chair  and  with  uplifted  hands,  and  closed,  uplifted  eyes,  was 
in  the  act  of  beginning  the  blessing.  Still  nobody  seemed  to 
perceive  that  the  prince  had  done  a  thing  unusual. 

By  his  own  request,  our  small  friend  was  now  conducted  to 
his  private  cabinet,  and  left  there  alone  to  his  own  devices. 
Hanging  upon  hooks  in  the  oaken  wainscoting  were  the  sev 
eral  pieces  of  a  suit  of  shining  steel  armor,  covered  all  over 
with  beautiful  designs  exquisitely  inlaid  in  gold.  This  mar 
tial  panoply  belonged  to  the  true  prince, — a  recent  present 
from  Madam  Parr  the  Queen.  Tom  put  on  the  greaves, 
the  gauntlets,  the  plumed  helmet,  and  such  other  pieces  as  he 
could  don  without  assistance,  and  for  a  while  was  minded  to 
call  for  help  and  complete  the  matter,  but  bethought  him  of 
the  nuts  he  had  brought  away  from  dinner,  and  the  joy  it 
would  be  to  eat  them  with  no  crowd  to  eye  him,  and  no  Grand 
Hereditaries  to  pester  him  with  undesired  services  ;  so  he  re 
stored  the  pretty  things  to  their  several  places,  and  soon  was 
cracking  nuts,  and  feeling  almost  naturally  happy  for  the 


66  TOM'S  FIRST   ROYAL   DINNER. 

first  time  since  God  for  his  sins  had  made  him  a  prince. 
When  the  nuts  were  all  gone,  he  stumbled  upon  some  inviting 
books  in  a  closet,  among  them  one  about  the  etiquette  of  the 
English  court.  This  was  a  prize.  He  lay  down  upon  a 
sumptuous  divan,  and  proceeded  to  instruct  himself  with 
honest  zeal.  Let  us  leave  him  there  for  the  present. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   QUESTION    OF    THE   SEAL. 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  Henry  VIII.  awoke  out  of  an  unre- 
freshingnap,  and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Troublous  dreams, 
troublous  dreams  !  Mine  end  is  now  at  hand  :  so  say  these 
warnings,  and  my  failing  pulses  do  confirm  it.'*  Presently  a 
wicked  light  flamed  up  in  his  eye,  and  he  muttered,  "  Yet 
will  not  I  die  till  he  go  before." 

His  attendants  perceiving  that  he  was  awake,  one  of  them 
asked  his  pleasure  concerning  the  Lord  Chancellor,  who  was 
waiting  without. 

"  Admit  him,  admit  him  !"  exclaimed  the  King  eagerly. 

The  Lord  Chancellor  entered,  and  knelt  by  the  King's 
couch,  saying, — 

"I  have  given  order,  and,  according  to  the  King's  com 
mand,  the  peers  of  the  realm,  in  their  robes,  do  now  stand  at 
the  bar  of  the  House,  where,  having  confirmed  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk's  doom,  they  humbly  wait  his  majesty's  further  pleas 
ure  in  the  matter." 

The  King's  face  lit  up  with  a  fierce  joy.     Said  he, — 

"  Lift  me  up  !  In  mine  own  person  will  I  go  before  my  Par 
liament,  and  with  mine  own  hand  will  I  seal  the  warrant  that 
rids  me  of" — 

His  voice  failed  ;  an  ashen  pallor  swept  the  flush  from  his 
cheeks  ;  and  the  attendants  eased  him  back  upon  his  pillows, 
and  hurriedly  assisted  him  with  restoratives.  Presently  he 
said  sorrowfully, — 

"  Alack,  how  have  I  longed  for  this  sweet  hour  !  and  lo, 

67 


68  THE   QUESTION   OF   THE   SEAL. 

too  late  it  cometh,  and  I  am  robbed  of  this  so  coveted  chance. 
But  speed  ye,  speed  ye  !  let  others  do  this  happy  office  sith 
'tis  denied  to  me.  I  put  my  great  seal  in  commission  :  choose 
thou  the  lords  that  shall  compose  it,  and  get  ye  to  your  work. 
Speed  ye,  man  !  Before  the  sun  shall  rise  and  set  again, 
bring  me  his  head  that  I  may  see  it." 

"  According  to  the  King's  command,  so  shall  it  be.  Will 't 
please  your  majesty  to  order  that  the  Seal  be  now  restored 
to  me,  so  that  I  may  forth  upon  the  business  ?  " 

"  The  seal  !     Who  keepeth  the  Seal  but  thou  ? " 

"  Please  your  majesty,  you  did  take  it  from  me  two  days 
since,  saying  it  should  no  more  do  its  office  till  your  own 
royal  hand  should  use  it  upon  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's  war 
rant." 

"  Why,  so  in  sooth  I  did  :  I  do  remember  it.  ...  What 
did  I  with  it?  ...  I  am  very  feeble.  ...  So  oft  these  days 
doth  my  memory  play  the  traitor  with  me.  .  .  .  'Tis 
strange,  strange  ' ' 

The  King  dropped  into  inarticulate  mumblings,  shaking 
his  gray  head  weakly  from  time  to  time,  and  gropingly  trying 
to  recollect  what  he  had  done  with  the  Seal.  At  last  my  lord 
Hertford  ventured  to  kneel  and  offer  information, — 

"  Sire,  if  that  I  may  be  so  bold,  here  be  several  that  do  re 
member  with  me  how  that  you  gave  the  Great  Seal  into  the 
hands  of  his  highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  keep  against  the 
day  that  "— 

"  True,  most  true  ! "  interrupted  the  King.  "  Fetch  it ! 
Go  :  time  flieth  !  " 

Lord  Hertford  flew  to  Tom,  but  returned  to  the  King  be 
fore  very  long,  troubled  and  empty-handed.  He  delivered 
himself  to  this  effect, — 

"  It  grieveth  me,  my  lord  the  King,  to  bear  so  heavy  and 
unwelcome  tidings  ;  but  it  is  the  will  c-f  God  that  the  prince's 
affliction  abideth  still,  and  he  cannot  recall  to  mind  that  he 


THE   QUESTION   OF   THE  SEAL.  69 

received  the  Seal.  So  came  I  quickly  to  report,  thinking  it 
were  waste  of  precious  time,  and  little  worth  withal,  that  any 
should  attempt  to  search  the  long  array  of  chambers  and  sa 
loons  that  belong  unto  his  royal  high  "- 

A  groan  from  the  King  interrupted  my  lord  at  this  point. 
After  a  little  while  his  majesty  said,  with  a  deep  sadness  in 
his  tone, — 

"  Trouble  him  no  more,  poor  child.  The  hand  of  God 
lieth  heavy  upon  him,  and  my  heart  goeth  out  in  loving  com 
passion  for  him,  and  sorrow  that  I  may  not  bear  his  burden 
on  mine  own  old  trouble-weighted  shoulders,  and  so  bring 
him  peace." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  fell  to  mumbling,  and  presently  was 
silent.  After  a  time  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  gazed  va 
cantly  around  until  his  glance  rested  upon  the  kneeling  Lord 
Chancellor.  Instantly  his  face  flushed  with  wrath, — 

•'  What,  thou  here  yet  !  By  the  glory  of  God,  an'  thou 
gettest  not  about  that  traitor's  business,  thy  mitre  shall  have 
holiday  the  morrow  for  lack  of  a  head  to  grace  withal  !  " 

The  trembling  Chancellor  answered, — 

"  Good  your  majesty,  I  cry  you  mercy  !  I  but  waited  for 
the  Seal." 

"Man,  hast  lost  thy  wits?  The  small  Seal  which  afore 
time  I  was  wont  to  take  with  me  abroad  lieth  in  my  treasury. 
And,  since  the  Great  Seal  hath  flown  away,  shall  not  it  suf 
fice  ?  Hast  lost  thy  wits  ?  Begone  !  And  hark  ye, — come 
no  more  till  thou  do  bring  his  head." 

The  poor  Chancellor  was  not  long  in  removing  himself 
from  this  dangerous  vicinity  ;  nor  did  the  commission  waste 
time  in  giving  the  royal  assent  to  the  work  of  the  slavish 
Parliament,  and  appointing  the  morrow  for  the  beheading  of 
the  premier  peer  of  England,  the  luckless  Duke  of  Nor 
folk.  * 

*  See  Note  5,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER  -IX. 

THE    RIVER   PAGEANT. 

AT  nine  in  the  evening  the  whole  vast  river-front  of 
the  palace  was  blazing  with  light.  The  river  itself,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  citywards,  was  so  thickly  covered  with 
watermen's  boats  and  with  pleasure-barges,  all  fringed  with 
colored  lanterns,  and  gently  agitated  by  the  waves,  that  it 
resembled  a  glowing  and  limitless  garden  of  flowers  stirred  to 
soft  motion  by  summer  winds.  The  grand  terrace  of  stone 
steps  leading  down  to  the  water,  spacious  enough  to  mass  the 
army  of  a  German  principality  upon,  was  a  picture  to  see, 
with  its  ranks  of  royal  halberdiers  in  polished  armor,  and  its 
troops  of  brilliantly  costumed  servitors  flitting  up  and  down, 
and  to  and  fro,  in  the  hurry  of  preparation. 

Presently  a  command  was  given,  and  immediately  all  liv 
ing  creatures  vanished  from  the  steps.  Now  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  hush  of  suspense  and  expectancy.  As  far  as 
one's  vision  could  carry,  he  might  see  the  myriads  of  people 
in  the  boats  rise  up,  and  shade  their  eyes  from  the  glare  of 
lanterns  and  torches,  and  gaze  toward  the  palace. 

A  file  of  forty  or  fifty  state  barges  drew  up  to  the  steps. 
They  were  richly  gilt,  and  their  lofty  prows  and  sterns  were 
elaborately  carved.  Some  of  them  were  decorated  with  ban 
ners  and  streamers  ;  some  with  cloth-of-gold  and  arras  em 
broidered  with  coats-of-arms  ;  others  with  silken  flags  that 
had  numberless  little  silver  bells  fastened  to  them,  which 
shook  out  tiny  showers  of  joyous  music  whenever  the  breezes 
fluttered  them  ;  others  of  yet  higher  pretensions,  since  they 

7° 


THE   RIVER    PAGEANT.  7 1 

belonged  to  nobles  in  the  prince's  immediate  service,  had 
their  sides  picturesquely  fenced  with  shields  gorgeously  em 
blazoned  with  armorial  bearings.  Each  state  barge  was  towed 
by  a  tender.  Besides  the  rowers,  these  tenders  carried  each 
a  number  of  men-at-arms  in  glossy  helmet  and  breastplate, 
and  a  company  of  musicians. 

The  advance-guard  of  the  expected  procession  now  ap 
peared  in  the  great  gateway,  a  troop  of  halberdiers.  "  They 
were  dressed  in  striped  hose  of  black  and  tawny,  velvet  caps 
graced  at  the  sides  with  silver  roses,  and  doublets  of  murrey 
and  blue  cloth,  embroidered  on  the  front  and  back  with  the 
three  feathers,  the  prince's  blazon,  woven  in  gold.  Their 
halberd  staves  were  covered  with  crimson  velvet,  fastened 
with  gilt  nails,  and  ornamented  with  gold  tassels.  Filing  off 
on  the  right  and  left,  they  formed  two  long  lines,  extending 
from  the  gateway  of  the  palace  to  the  water's  edge.  A  thick, 
rayed  cloth  or  carpet  was  then  unfolded,  and  laid  down  be 
tween  them  by  attendants  in  the  gold-and-crimson  liveries  of 
the  prince.  This  done,  a  flourish  of  trumpets  resounded 
from  within.  A  lively  prelude  arose  from  the  musicians  on 
the  water  ;  and  two  ushers  with  white  wands  marched  with  a 
slow  and  stately  pace  from  the  portal.  They  were  followed 
by  an  officer  bearing  the  civic  mace,  after  whom  came 
another  carrying  the  city's  sword  ;  then  several  sergeants  of 
the  city  guard,  in  their  full  accoutrements,  and  with  badges 
on  their  sleeves  ;  then  the  garter  king-at-arms,  in  his  tabard  ; 
then  several  knights  of  the  bath,  each  with  a  white  lace  on 
his  sleeve;  then  their  esquires;  then  the  judges,  in  their 
robes  of  scarlet  and  coifs  ;  then  the  lord  high  chancellor  of 
England,  in  a  robe  of  scarlet,  open  before,  and  purfled  with 
minever  ;  then  a  deputation  of  aldermen,  in  their  scarlet 
cloalcs  ;  and  then  the  heads  of  the  different  civic  companies, 
in  their  robes  of  state.  Now  came  twelve  French  gentlemen, 
in  splendid  habiliments,  consisting  of  pourpoints  of  white 


THE   RIVER    PAGEANT. 


damask  barred  with  gold,  short  mantles  of  crimson  velvet 
lined  with  violet  taffeta,  and  carnation-colored  hauts-de- 
chausses,  and  took  their  way  down  the  steps.  They  were  of 
the  suite  of  the  French  ambassador,  and  were  followed  by 
twelve  cavaliers  of  the  suite  of  the  Spanish  ambassador, 

clothed  in  black  vel 
vet,  unrelieved  by  any 
ornament.  Following 
these  came  several 
great  English  nobles 
with  their  attendants." 
There  was  a  flourish 
of  trumpets  within  ; 
and  the  prince's  uncle, 
the  future  great  Duke 
of  Somerset,  emerged 
from  the  gateway,  ar 
rayed  in  a  "  doublet 
of  black  cloth-of-gold, 
and  a  cloak  of  crimson 
satin  flowered  with 
gold,  and  ribanded 
with  nets  of  silver." 
He  turned,  doffed  his 
plumed  cap,  bent  his 
body  in  a  low  rever 
ence,  and  began  to 
"TOM  CANTY  STEPPED  INTO  VIEW."]  step  backward,  bow- 

ing  at  each   step.     A 

prolonged  trumpet-blast  followed,  and  a  proclamation,"  Way 
for  the  high  and  mighty,  the  Lord  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales  !  " 
High  aloft  on  the  palace  walls  a  long  line  of  red  tongues  of 
flame  leaped  forth  with  a  thunder-crash  :  the  massed  world 
on  the  river  burst  into  a  mighty  roar  of  welcome;  and  Tom 


THE   KIVEU.    PAGEANT.  73 

Canty,  the  cause  and  hero  of  it  all,  stepped   into  view,  and 
slightly  bowed  his  princely  head. 

He  was  "  magnificently  habited  in  a  doublet  of  white  satin, 
with  a  front-piece  of  purple  cloth-of-tissue,  powdered  with 
diamonds,  and  edged  with  ermine.  Over  this  he  wore  a  man 
tle  of  white  cloth-of-gold,  pounced  with  the  triple-feather 
crest,  lined  with  blue  satin,  set  with  pearls  and  precious 
stones,  and  fastened  with  a  clasp  of  brilliants.  About  his 
neck  hung  the  order  of  the  Garter,  and  several  princely 
foreign  orders  ; "  and  wherever  light  fell  upon  him  jewels  re 
sponded  with  a  blinding  flash.  O  Tom  Canty,  born  in  a 
hovel,  bred  in  the  gutters  of  London,  familiar  with  rags  and 
dirt  and  misery,  what  a  spectacle  is  this  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PRINCE    IN    THE    TOILS. 

WE  left  John  Canty  dragging  the  rightful  prince  into  Offal 
Court,  with  a  noisy  and  delighted  mob  at  his  heels.  There 
was  but  one  person  in  it  who  offered  a  pleading  word  for  the 
captive,  and  he  was  not  heeded  :  he  was  hardly  even  heard, 
so  great  was  the  turmoil.  The  prince  continued  to  struggle 
for  freedom,  and  to  rage  against  the  treatment  he  was  suffer 
ing,  until  John  Canty  lost  what  little  patience  was  left  in  him, 
and  raised  his  oaken  cudgel  in  a  sudden  fury  over  the 
prince's  head.  The  single  pleader  for  the  lad  sprang  to  stop 
the  man's  arm,  and  the  blow  descended  upon  his  own  wrist. 
Canty  roared  out, — 

"  Thou'lt  meddle,  wilt  thou  ?   Then  have  thy  reward." 

His  cudgel  crashed  down  upon  the  meddler's  head  :  there 
was  a  groan,  a  dim  form  sank  to  the  ground  among  the  feet 
of  the  crowd,  and  the  next  moment  it  lay  there  in  the  dark 
alone.  The  mob  pressed  on,  their  enjoyment  nothing  dis 
turbed  by  this  episode. 

Presently  the  prince  found  himself  in  John  Canty's  abode, 
with  the  door  closed  against  the  outsiders.  By  the  vague 
light  of  a  tallow  candle  which  was  thrust  into  a  bottle,  he 
made  out  the  main  features  of  the  loathsome  den,  and  also 
the  occupants  of  it.  Two  frowsy  girls  and  a  middle-aged 
woman  cowered  against  the  wall  in  one  corner,  with  the  as 
pect  of  animals  habituated  to  harsh  usage,  and  expecting  and 
dreading  it  now.  From  another  corner  stole  a  withered  hag 

74 


THE   PRINCE   IN   THE   TOILS.  75 

with  streaming  gray  hair  and  malignant  eyes.  John  Canty 
said  to  this  one, — 

"  Tarry  !  There's  fine  mummeries  here.  Mar  them  not 
till  thou'st  enjoyed  them  ;  then  let  thy  hand  be  heavy  as 
thou  wilt.  Stand  forth,  lad.  Now  say  thy  foolery  again,  an' 
thou'st  not  forgot  it.  Name  thy  name.  Who  art  thou  ?  " 

The  insulted  blood  mounted  to  the  little  prince's  cheek 
once  more,  and  he  lifted  a  steady  and  indignant  gaze  to  the 
man's  face,  and  said, — 

"  'Tis  but  ill-breeding  in  such  as  thou  to  command  me  to 
speak.  I  tell  thee  now  ,  as  I  told  thee  before,  I  am  Edward, 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  none  other." 

The  stunning  surprise  of  this  reply  nailed  the  hag's  feet  to 
the  floor  where  she  stood,  and  almost  took  her  breath.  She 
stared  at  the  prince  in  stupid  amazement,  which  so  amused 
her  ruffianly  son,  that  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  But 
the  effect  upon  Tom  Canty's  mother  and  sisters  was  different. 
Their  dread  of  bodily  injury  gave  way  at  once  to  distress  of 
a  different  sort.  They  ran 'forward  with  woe  and  dismay  in 
their  faces,  exclaiming,— 

«'  O  poor  Tom,  poor  lad  !  " 

The  mother  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  prince,  put  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  gazed  yearningly  into  his  face 
through  her  rising  tears.  Then  she  said, — 

"  O  my  poor  boy  !  thy  foolish  reading  hath  wrought  its 
woful  work  at  last,  and  ta'en  thy  wit  away.  Ah  !  why  didst 
thou  cleave  to  it  when  I  so  warned  thee  'gainst  it  ?  Thou'st 
broke  thy  mother's  heart." 

The  prince  looked  into  her  face,  and  said  gently, — 

"  Thy  son  is  well,  and  hath  not  lost  his  wits,  good  dame. 
Comfort  thee  :  let  me  to  the  palace  where  he  is,  and  straight 
way  will  the  King  my  father  restore  him  to  thee." 

"  The  King  thy  father  !  O  my  child  !  unsay  these  words 
that  be  freighted  with  death  for  thee,  and  ruin  for  all  that  be 


?6  THE   PRINCE   IN   THE   TOILS. 

near  to  thee.  Shake  off  this  grewsome  dream.  Call  back 
thy  poor  wandering  memory.  Look  upon  me.  Am  not  I 
thy  mother  that  bore  thee,  and  loveth  thee? " 

The  prince  shook  his  head,  and  reluctantly  said,— 

"God  knoweth  I  am  loath  to  grieve  thy  heart ;  but  truly 
have  I  never  looked  upon  thy  face  before." 

The  woman  sank  back  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  floor, 
and,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  gave  way  to  heart 
broken  sobs  and  wail  ings. 

"  Let  the  show  go  on  !  "  shouted  Canty.  "  What,  Nan  ! 
what,  Bet !  Mannerless  wenches !  will  ye  stand  in  the 
prince's  presence  ?  Upon  your  knees,  ye  pauper  scum,  and 
do  him  reverence  !  " 

He  followed  this  with  another  horse-laugh.  The  girls 
began  to  plead  timidly  for  their  brother  ;  and  Nan  said, — 

"  An'  thou  wilt  but  let  him  to  bed,  father,  rest  and  sleep 
will  heal  his  madness  :  prithee,  do." 

=1  "  Do,  father,"  said  Bet :  u  he  is  more  worn  than  is  his 
wont.  To-morrow  will  he  be  himself  again,  and  will  beg 
with  diligence,  and  come  not  empty  home  again." 

This  remark  sobered  the  father's  joviality,  and  brought 
his  mind  to  business.  He  turned  angrily  upon  the  prince, 
and  said, — 

"  The  morrow  must  we  pay  two  pennies  to  him  that  owns 
this  hole  ;  two  pennies,  mark  ye, — all  this  money  for  a  half- 
year's  rent,  else  out  of  this  we  go.  Show  what  thou'st 
gathered  with  thy  lazy  begging." 

The  prince  said,— 

"  Offend  me  not  with  thy  sordid  matters.  I  tell  thee  again 
I  am  the  King's  son." 

A  sounding  blow  upon  the  prince's  shoulder  from  Canty's 
broad  palm  sent  him  staggering  into  goodwife  Canty's  arms, 
who  clasped  him  to  her  breast,  and  sheltered  him  from  a 
pelting  rain  of  cuffs  and  slaps  by  interposing  her  own  person. 


THE  PRINCE   IN   THE  TOILS.  77 

The  frightened  girls  retreated  to  their  corner  ;  but  the 
grandmother  stepped  eagerly  forward  to  assist  her  son.  The 
prince  sprang  away  from  Mrs.  Canty,  exclaiming, — 

"  Thou  shalt  not  suffer  for  me,  madam.  Let  these  swine 
do  their  will  upon  me  alone." 

This  speech  infuriated  the  swine  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
set  about  their  work  without  waste  of  time.  Between  them 
they  belabored  the  boy  right  soundly,  and  then  gave  the 
girls  and  their  mother  a  beating  for  showing  sympathy  for  the 
victim. 

"  Now,"  said  Canty,  "to  bed,  all  of  ye.  The  entertain 
ment  has  tired  me." 

The  light  was  put  out,  and  the  family  retired.  As  soon  as 
the  snorings  of  the  head  of  the  house  and  his  mother  showed 
that  they  were  asleep,  the  young  girls  crept  to  where  the 
prince  lay,  and  covered  him  tenderly  from  the  cold  with 
straw  and  rags  ;  and  their  mother  crept  to  him  also,  and 
stroked  his  hair,  and  cried  over  him,  whispering  broken 
words  of  comfort  and  compassion  in  his  ear  the  while.  She 
had  saved  a  morsel  for  him  to  eat,  also  ;  but  the  boy's  pains 
had  swept  away  all  appetite, — at  least  for  black  and  tasteless 
crusts.  He  was  touched  by  her  brave  and  costly  defence  of 
him,  and  by  her  commiseration  ;  and  he  thanked  her  in  very 
noble  and  princely  words,  and  begged  her  to  go  to  her  sleep 
and  try  to  forget  her  sorrows.  And  he  added  that  the  King 
his  father  would  not  let  her  loyal  kindness  and  devotion  go 
unrewarded.  This  return  to  his  "  madness  "  broke  her  heart 
anew,  and  she  strained  him  to  her  breast  again  and  again  and 
then  went  back,  drowned  in  tears,  to  her  bed. 

As  she  lay  thinking  and  mourning,  the  suggestion  began 
to  creep  into  her  mind  that  there  was  an  undefinable  some 
thing  about  this  boy  that  was  lacking  in  Tom  Canty,  mad  or 
sane.  She  could  not  describe  it,  she  could  not  tell  just  what 
it  was,  and  yet  her  sharp  mother-instinct  seemed  to  detect  it 


78  THE  PRINCE   IN   THE   TOILS. 

and  perceive  it.  What  if  the  boy  were  really  not  her  son, 
after  all  ?  O,  absurd  !  She  almost  smiled  at  the  idea,  spite 
of  her  griefs  and  troubles.  No  matter,  she  found  that  it  was 
an  idea  that  would  not  "down,"  but  persisted  in  haunting 
her.  It  pursued  her,  it  harassed  her,  itching  to  her,  and  re 
fused  to  be  put  away  or  ignored.  At  last  she  perceived  that 
there  was  not  going  to  be  any  peace  for  her  until  she  should 
devise  a  test  that  should  prove,  clearly  and  without  question, 
whether  this  lad  was  her  son  or  not,  and  so  banish  these 
wearing  and  worrying  doubts.  Ah  yes,  this  was  plainly  the 
right  way  out  of  the  difficulty  ;  therefore  she  set  her  wits  to 
work  at  once  to  contrive  that  test.  But  it  was  an  easier  thing 
to  propose  than  to  accomplish.  She  turned  over  in  her  mind 
one  promising  test  after  another,  but  was  obliged  to  relin 
quish  them  all — none  of  them  were  absolutely  sure,  abso 
lutely  perfect ;  and  an  imperfect  one  could  not  satisfy  her. 
Evidently  she  was  racking  her  head  in  vain — it  seemed  man 
ifest  that  she  must  give  the  matter  up.  While  this  depress 
ing  thought  was  passing  through  her  mind,  her  ear  caught 
the  regular  breathing  of  the  boy,  and  she  knew  he  had  fallen 
asleep.  And  while  she  listened,  the  measured  breathing  was 
broken  by  a  soft,  startled  cry,  such  as  one  utters  in  a 
troubled  dream.  This  chance  occurrence  furnished  her  in 
stantly  with  a  plan  worth  all  her  labored  tests  combined. 
She  at  once  set  herself  feverishly,  but  noiselessly,  to  work,  to 
relight  her  candle,  muttering  to  herself,  "  Had  I  but  seen  him 
then,  I  should  have  known  !  Since  that  day,  when  he  was 
little,  that  the  powder  burst  in  his  face,  he  hath  never  been 
startled  of  a  sudden  out  of  his  dreams  or  out  of  his  thinkings, 
but  he  hath  cast  his  hand  before  his  eyes,  even  as  he  did  that 
day;  and  not  as  others  would  do  it,  with  the  palm  inward,  but 
always  with  the  palm  turned  outward — I  have  seen  it  a  hun 
dred  times,  and  it  hath  never  varied  nor  ever  failed.  Yes,  I 
shall  soon  know,  now  !  " 


THE  PRINCE   IN   THE   TOILS.  79 

By  this  time  she  had  crept  to  the  slumbering  boy's  side, 
with  the  candle,  shaded,  in  her  hand.  She  bent  needfully 
and  warily  over  him,  scarcely  breathing,  in  her  suppressed  ex 
citement,  and  suddenly  flashed  the  light  in  his  face  and 
struck  the  floor  by  his  ear  with  her  knuckles.  The  sleeper's 
eyes  sprung  wide  open,  and  he  cast  a  startled  stare  about  him 
—but  he  made  no  special  movement  with  his  hands. 

The  poor  woman  was  smitten  almost  helpless  with  surprise 
and  grief  ;  but  she  contrived  to  hide  her  emotions,  and  to 


SHE  BENT  HEEDFULLY  AND  WARILY  OVER  HIM.' 


soothe  the  boy  to  sleep  again  ;  then  she  crept  apart  and  com 
muned  miserably  with  herself  upon  the  disastrous  result  of 
her  experiment.  She  tried  to  believe  that  her  Tom's  mad 
ness  had  banished  this  habitual  gesture  of  his  ;  but  she 
could  not  do  it.  "  No,  "she  said,  "  his  hands  are  not  mad, 
they  could  not  unlearn  so  old  a  habit  in  so  brief  a  time.  O, 
this  is  a  heavy  day  for  me  ! " 

Still,  hope  was  as  stubborn,  now,  as  doubt  had  been  before; 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  accept  the  verdict  of  the  test ; 


8o  THE   PRINCE   IN   THE   TC)lLS. 

she  must  try  the  thing  again — the  failure  must  have  been 
only  an  accident ;  so  she  startled  the  boy  out  of  his  sleep  a 
second  and  a  third  time,  at  intervals — with  the  same  result 
which  had  marked  the  first  test— then  she  dragged  herself  to 
bed,  and  fell  sorrowfully  asleep,  saying,  "  But  I  cannot  give 
him  up — O,  no,  I  cannot,  I  cannot — he  must  be  my  boy  !  " 

The  poor  mother's  interruptions  having  ceased,  and  the 
prince's  pains  having  gradually  lost  their  power  to  disturb 
him,  utter  weariness  at  last  sealed  his  eyes  in  a  profound  and 
restful  sleep.  Hour  after  hour  slipped  away,  and  still  he 
slept  like  the  dead.  Thus  four  or  five  hours  passed.  Then 
his  stupor  began  to  lighten.  Presently  while  half  asleep  and 
half  awake,  he  murmured — 

"  Sir  William  !  " 

After  a  moment — 

"  Ho,  Sir  William  Herbert !  Hie  thee  hither,  and  list  to 
the  strangest  dream  that  ever  .  .  .  Sir  William  !  Dost  hear  ? 
Man,  I  did  think  me  changed  to  a  pauper,  and  .  .  .  Ho 
there  !  Guards  !  Sir  William  !  What  !  is  there  no  groom 
of  the  chamber  in  waiting  ?  Alack  it  shall  go  hard  with  " — 

"What  aileth  thee?  "asked  a  whisper  near  him.  "  Who 
art  thou  calling  ?" 

"Sir  William  Herbert.     Who  art  thou  ? " 

"  I  ?  Who  should  I  be,  but  thy  sister  Nan  ?  O,  Tom,  I 
had  forgot  !  Thou'rt  mad  yet — poor  lad  thou'rt  mad  yet, 
would  I  had  never  woke  to  know  it  again  !  But  prithee  mas 
ter  thy  tongue,  lest  we  be  all  beaten  till  we  die  ! " 

The  startled  prince  sprang  partly  up,  but  a  sharp  reminder 
from  his  stiffened  bruises  brought  him  to  himself,  and  he 
sunk  back  among  his  foul  straw  with  a  moan  and  the  ejac 
ulation — 

"  Alas,  it  was  no  dream,  then  !  " 

In  a  moment  all  the  heavy  sorrow  and  misery  which  sleep 
had  banished  were  upon  him  again,  and  he  realized  that  he 


THE   PRINCE   IN   THE    TOILS.  8l 

was  no  longer  a  petted  prince  in  a  palace,  with  the  adoring 
eyes  of  a  nation  upon  him,  but  a  pauper,  an  outcast,  clothed 
in  rags,  prisoner  in  a  den  fit  only  for  beasts,  and  consorting 
with  beggars  and  thieves. 

In  the  midst  of  his  grief  he  began  to  be  conscious  of  hi 
larious  noises  and  shoutings,  apparently  but  a  block  or  two 
away.  The  next  moment  there  were  several  sharp  raps  at 
the  door  ;  John  Canty  ceased  from  snoring  and  said— 

"  Who  knocketh  ?     What  wilt  thou  ?  " 

A  voice  answered — 

"  Know'st  thou  who  it  was  thou  laid  thy  cudgel  on  ?  " 

"No.     Neither  know  I,  nor  care." 

"  Belike  thou'lt  change  thy  note  eftsoons.  An'  thou  would 
save  thy  neck,  nothing  but  flight  may  stead  thee.  The  man 
is  this  moment  delivering  up  the  ghost.  '  Tis  the  priest,  Fa 
ther  Andrew  ! " 

"  God-a-mercy  !  "  exclaimed  Canty.  He  roused  his  fam 
ily,  and  hoarsely  commanded,  "  Up  with  ye  all  and  fly — or 
bide  where  ye  are  and  perish  !  " 

Scarcely  five  minutes  later  the  Canty  household  were  in  the 
street  and  flying  for  their  lives.  John  Canty  held  the  prince 
by  the  wrist,  and  hurried  him  along  the  dark  way,  giving  him 
this  caution  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Mind  thy  tongue,  thou  mad  fool,  and  speak  not  our  name. 
I  will  choose  me  a  new  name,  speedily,  to  throw  the  law's 
dogs  off  the  scent.  Mind  thy  tongue,  I  tell  thee  !" 

He  growled  these  words  to  the  rest  of  the  family— 

"  If  it  so  chance  that  we  be  separated,  let  each  make  for 
London  bridge  ;  whoso  findeth  himself  as  far  as  the  last  linen- 
draper's  shop  on  the  bridge,  let  him  tarry  there  till  the  others 
be  come,  then  will  we  flee  into  Southwark  together." 

At  this  moment  the  party  burst  suddenly  out  of  darkness 
into  light  ;  and  not  only  into  light,  but  into  the  midst  of  a 
multitude  of  singing,  dancing,  and  shouting  people,  massed 


82  THE    PRINCE   IN   THE   TOILS. 

together  on  the  river  frontage.  There  was  a  line  of  bonfires 
stretching  as  far  as  one  could  see,  up  and  down  the  Thames  ; 
London  bridge  was  illuminated  ;  Southwark  bridge  likewise  ; 
the  entire  river  was  aglow  with  the  flash  and  sheen  of  colored 
lights;  and  constant  explosions  of  fireworks  filled  the  skies 
with  an  intricate  commingling  of  shooting  splendors  and  a 
thick  rain  of  dazzling  sparks  that  almost  turned  night  into 
day  ;  everywhere  were  crowds  of  revellers  ;  all  London 
seemed  to  be  at  large. 

John  Canty  delivered  himself  of  a  furious  curse  and  com 
manded  a  retreat;  but  it  was  too  late.  He  and  his  tribe  were 
swallowed  up  in  that  swarming  hive  of  humanity,  and  hope 
lessly  separated  from  each  other  in  an  instant.  We  are  not 
considering  that  the  prince  was  one  of  his  tribe  ;  Canty  still 
kept  his  grip  upon  him.  The  prince's  heart  was  beating  high 
with  hopes  of  escape,  now.  A  burly  waterman,  considerably 
exalted  with  liquor,  found  himself  rudely  shoved,  by  Canty, 
in  his  efforts  to  plough  through  the  crowd  ;  he  laid  his  great 
hand  on  Canty's  shoulder  and  said— 

"Nay,  whither  so  fast,  friend  ?  Dost  canker  thy  soul  with 
sordid  business  when  all  that  be  leal  men  and  true  make 
holiday?' 

"  Mine  affairs  are  mine  own,  they  concern  thee  not,"  an 
swered  Canty,  roughly  ;  "  take  away  thy  hand  and  let  me 
pass." 

"  Sith  that  is  thy  humor,  thou'lt  not  pass,  till  thou'st  drunk 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  I  tell  thee  that,"  said  the  waterman, 
barring  the  way  resolutely. 

"  Give  me  the  cup,  then,  and  make  speed,  make  speed  !" 

Other  revellers  were  interested  by  this  time.  They  cried 
out — 

"  The  loving-cup,  the  loving-cup  !  make  the  sour  knave 
drink  the  loving-cup,  else  will  we  feed  him  to  the  fishes." 

So  a  huge   loving-cup  was  brought  ;  the  waterman,  grasp- 


THE   PRINCE    IN   THE   TOILS.  83 

ing  it  by  one  of  its  handles,  and  with  his  other  hand  bearing 
up  the  end  of  an  imaginary  napkin,  presented  it  in  due  and 
ancient  form  to  Canty,  who  had  to  grasp  the  opposite  handle 
with  one  of  his  hands  and  take  off  the  lid  with  the  other,  ac 
cording  to  ancient  custom.*  This  left  the  prince  hand- free 


for  a  second,  of  course.  He 
wasted  no  time,  but  dived  among 
the  forest  of  legs  about  him 
and  disappeared.  In  another 
moment  he  could  not  have  been 
harder  to  find,  under  that  toss 
ing  sea  of  life,  if  its  billows  had 
been  the  Atlantic's  and  he  a 
lost  sixpence. 

He  very  soon    realized  this  fact,  and  straightway  busied 
himself  about  his  own  affairs  without  further  thought  of  John 
Canty.       He  quickly  realized   another  thing,  too.      To  wit, 
*  See  Note  6,  at  end  of  volume. 


"HE   WASTED    NO    TIME.' 


84  THE   PRINCE   IN   THE   TOU.S. 

that  a  spurious  Prince  of  Wales  was  being  feasted  by  the 
city  in  his  stead.  He  easily  concluded  that  the  pauper  lad, 
Tom  Canty,  had  deliberately  taken  advantage  of  his  stupen 
dous  opportunity  and  become  a  usurper. 

Therefore  there  was  but  one  course  to  pursue — find  his  way 
to  the  Guildhall,  make  himself  known,  and  denounce  the 
impostor.  He  also  made  up  his  mind  that  Tom  should  be 
allowed  a  reasonable  time  for  spiritual  preparation,  and  then 
be  hanged,  drawn  and  quartered,  according  to  the  law  and 
usage  of  the  day,  in  cases  of  high  treason. 


CHAPTER    XL 

AT    GUILDHALL. 

THE  royal  barge,  attended  by  its  gorgeous  fleet,  took  its 
stately  way  down  the  Thames  through  the  wilderness  of  illu 
minated  boats.  The  air  was  laden  with  music;  the  river 
banks  were  beruffled  with  joy-flames;  the  distant  city  lay  in 
a  soft  luminous  glow  from  its  countless  invisible  bonfires  ; 
above  it  rose  many  a  slender  spire  into  the  sky,  incrusted 
with  sparkling  lights,  wherefore  in  their  remoteness  they 
seemed  like  jewelled  lances  thrust  aloft  ;  as  the  fleet  swept 
along,  it  was  greeted  from  the  banks  with  a  continuous  hoarse 
roar  of  cheers  and  the  ceaseless  flash  and  boom  of  artillery. 
To  Tom  Canty,  half  buried  in  his  silken  cushions,  these 
sounds  and  this  spectacle  were  a  wonder  unspeakably  sub 
lime  and  astonishing.  To  his  little  friends  at  his  side,  the 
princess  Elizabeth  and  the  lady  Jane  Grey,  they  were  noth 
ing- 
Arrived  at  the  Dowgate,  the  fleet  was  towed  up  the  limpid 
Walbrook  (whose  channel  has  now  been  for  two  centuries 
buried  out  of  sight  under  acres  of  buildings,)  to  Bucklers- 
bury,  past  houses  and  tinder  bridges  populous  with  merry 
makers  and  brilliantly  lighted,  and  at  last  came  to  a  halt  in  a 
basin  where  now  is  Barge  Yard,  in  the  centre  of  the  ancient 
city  of  London.  Tom  disembarked,  and  he  and  his  gallant 
procession  crossed  Cheapside  and  made  a  short  march 
through  the  Old  Jewry  and  Basinghall  street  to  the  Guild 
hall. 

Tom  and  his  little  ladies  were  received  with  due  ceremony 

8s 


86  AT    GUILDHALL. 

by  the  Lord  Mayor  and  the  Fathers  of  the  City,  in  their  gold 
chains  and  scarlet  robes  of  state,  and  conducted  to  a  rich 
canopy  of  state  at  the  head  of  the  great  hall,  preceded  by 
heralds  making  proclamation,  and  by  the  Mace  and  the  City 
Sword.  The  lords  and  ladies  who  were  to  attend  upon  Tom 
and  his  two  small  friends  took  their  places  behind  their 
chairs. 

At  a  lower  table  the  court  grandees  and  other  guests  of 
noble  degree  were  seated,  with  the  magnates  of  the  city  ;  the 
commoners  took  places  at  a  multitude  of  tables  on  the  main 
floor  of  the  hall.  From  their  lofty  vantage-ground,  the 
giants  Gog  and  Magog,  the  ancient  guardians  of  the  city, 
contemplated  the  spectacle  below  them  with  eyes  grown 
familiar  to  it  in  forgotten  generations.  There  was  a  bugle- 
blast  and  a  proclamation,  and  a  fat  butler  appeared  in  a  high 
perch  in  the  leftward  wall,  followed  by  his  servitors  bearing 
with  impressive  solemnity  a  royal  Baron  of  Beef,  smoking 
hot  and  ready  for  the  knife. 

After  grace,  Tom,  (being  instructed)  rose — and  the  whole 
house  with  him — and  drank  from  a  portly  golden  loving-cup 
with  the  princess  Elizabeth;  from  her  it  passed  to  the  lady 
Jane,  and  then  traversed  the  general  assemblage.  So  the 
banquet  began. 

By  midnight  the  revelry  was  at  its  height.  Now  came  one 
of  those  picturesque  spectacles  so  admired  in  that  old  day. 
A  description  of  it  is  still  extant  in  the  quaint  wording  of  a 
chronicler  who  witnessed  it : 

"  Space  being  made,  presently  entered  a  baron  and  an  earl 
appareled  after  the  Turkish  fashion  in  long  robes  of  bawdkin 
powdered  with  gold  ;  hats  on  their  heads  of  crimson  velvet, 
with  great  rolls  of  gold,  girded  with  two  swords,  called  scim 
itars,  hanging  by  great  bawdricks  of  gold.  Next  came  yet 
another  baron  and  another  earl,  in  two  long  gowns  of  yellow 


AT    GUILDHALL.  87 

satin,  traversed  with  white  satin,  and  in  every  bend  of  white 
was  a  bend  of  crimson  satin,  after  the  fashion  of  Russia, 
with  furred  hats  of  gray  on  their  heads  ;  either  of  them  hav 
ing  an  hatchet  in  their  hands,  and  boots  with/j&j"  (points  a 
foot  long),  "  turned  up.  And  after  them  came  a  knight,  then 
the  Lord  High  Admiral,  and  with  him  five  nobles,  in  doub 
lets  of  crimson  velvet,  voyded  low  on  the  back  and  before  to 
the  cannell-bone,  laced  on  the  breasts  with  chains  of  silver  ; 
and,  over  that,  short  cloaks  of  crimson  satin,  and  on  their 
heads  hats  after  the  dancers'  fashion,  with  pheasants'  feathers 
in  them.  These  were  appareled  after  the  fashion  of  Prussia. 
The  torch-bearers,  which  were  about  an  hundred,  were  ap 
pareled  in  crimson  satin  and  green,  like  Moors,  their  faces 
black.  Next  came  in  a  mommarye.  Then  the  minstrels, 
which  were  disguised,  danced  ;  and  the  lords  and  ladies  did 
wildly  dance  also,  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  behold." 

And  while  Tom,  in  his  high  seat,  was  gazing  upon  this 
"  wild  "  dancing,  lost  in  admiration  of  the  dazzling  commin 
gling  of  kaleidoscopic  colors  which  the  whirling  turmoil  of 
gaudy  figures  below  him  presented,  the  ragged  but  real  little 
prince  of  Wales  was  proclaiming  his  rights  and  his  wrongs, 
denouncing  the  impostor,  and  clamoring  for  admission  at  the 
gates  of  Guildhall  !  The  crowd  enjoyed  this  episode  pro 
digiously,  and  pressed  forward  and  craned  their  necks  to  see 
the  small  rioter.  Presently  they  began  to  taunt  him  and 
mock  at  him,  purposely  to  goad  him  into  a  higher  and  still 
more  entertaining  fury.  Tears  of  mortification  sprung  to  his 
eyes,  but  he  stood  his  ground  and  defied  the  mob  right  roy 
ally.  Other  taunts  followed,  added  mockings  stung  him, 
and  he  exclaimed — 

"I  tell  ye  again,  you  pack  of  unmannerly  curs,  I  am  the 
prince  of  Wales  !  And  all  forlorn  and  friendless  as  I  be, 
with  none  to  give  me  word  of  grace  or  help  me  in  my  need, 
yet  will  not  I  be  driven  from, my  ground,  but  will  maintain  it ! " 


88  AT    GUILDHALL. 

"  Though  thou  be  prince  or  no  prince,  'tis  all  one,  thou 
be'st  a  gallant  lad,  and  not  friendless  neither  !  Here  stand  I 
by  thy  side  to  prove  it  ;  and  mind  I  tell  thee  thou  might'st 
have  a  worser  friend  than  Miles  Hendon  and  yet  not  tire  thy 
legs  with  seeking.  Rest  thy  small  jaw,  my  child,  I  talk  the 
language  of  these  base  kennel-rats  like  to  a  very  native." 

The  speaker  was  a  sort  of  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  in  dress, 
aspect,  and  bearing.  He  was  tall,  trim-built,  muscular.  His 
doublet  and  trunks  were  of  rich  material,  but  faded  and 
threadbare,  and  their  gold-lace  adornments  were  sadly  tar 
nished  ;  his  ruff  was  rumpled  and  damaged  ;  the  plume  in 
his  slouched  hat  was  broken  and  had  a  bedraggled  and  disrep 
utable  look  ;  at  his  side  he  wore  a  long  rapier  in  a  rusty  iron 
sheath  ;  his  swaggering  carriage  marked  him  at  once  as  a 
ruffier  of  the  camp.  The  speech  of  this  fantastic  figure  was 
received  with  an  explosion  of  jeers  and  laughter.  Some 
cried,  "  'Tis  another  prince  in  disguise  !  "  "  'Ware  thy 
tongue,  friend,  belike  he  is  dangerous  !  "  "  Marry,  he  look- 
eth  it — mark  his  eye  !  "  "  Pluck  the  lad  from  him— to  the 
horse-pond  wi'  the  cub  !  " 

Instantly  a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  prince,  under  the  im 
pulse  of  this  happy  thought  ;  as  instantly  the  stranger's  long 
sword  was  out  and  the  meddler  went  to  the  earth  under  a 
sounding  thump  with  the  flat  of  it.  The  next  moment  a  score 
of  voices  shouted  "  Kill  the  dog  !  kill  him  !  kill  him  ! "  and 
the  mob  closed  in  on  the  warrior,  who  backed  himself 
against  a  wall  and  began  to  lay  about  him  with  his  long 
weapon  like  a  madman.  His  victims  sprawled  this  way  and 
that,  but  the  mob-tide  poured  over  their  prostrate  forms  and 
dashed  itself  against  the  champion  with  undiminished  fury. 
His  moments  seemed  numbered,  his  destruction  certain, 
when  suddenly  a  trumpet-blast  sounded,  a  voice  shouted, 
"Way  for  the  king's  messenger  !  "  and  a  troop  of  horsemen 
came  charging  down  upon  the  mob,  who  fled  out  of  harm's 


AT    GUILDHALL. 


89 


reach  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them.  The  bold 
stranger  caught  up  the  prince  in  his  arms,  and  was  soon  far 
away  from  danger  and  the  multitude. 

Return  we  within  the  Guildhall.  Suddenly,  high  above  the 
jubilant  roar  and  thunder  of  the  revel,  broke  the  clear  peal 
of  a  bugle-note.  There  was  instant  silence, —  a  deep  hush  ; 
then  a  single  voice  rose — that  of  the  messenger  from  the 


BEGAN   TO    LAY   ABOUT    HIM." 


palace — and  began  to  pipe  forth  a  proclamation,  the  whole 
multitude  standing,  listening.  The  closing  words,  solemnly 
pronounced,  were — 

"  The  king  is  dead  !  " 

The  great  assemblage  bent  their  heads  upon  their  breasts 
with  one  accord  ;  remained  so,  in  profound  silence,  a  few 
moments  ;  then  all  sunk  upon  their  knees  in  a  body,  stretched 


go  AT    GUILDHALL. 

out  their  hands  toward  Tom,  and  a  mighty  shout  burst  forth 
that  seemed  to  shake  the  building— 

"  Long  live  the  king  !  " 

Poor  Tom's  dazed  eyes  \vandered  abroad  over  this  stupefy 
ing  spectacle,  and  finally  rested  dreamily  upon  the  kneeling 
princesses  beside  him,  a  moment,  then  upon  the  earl  of  Hert 
ford.  A  sudden  purpose  dawned  in  his  face.  He  said,  in  a 
low  tone,  at  lord  Hertford's  ear — 

"  Answer  me  truly,  on  thy  faith  and  honor  !  Uttered  I 
here  a  command,  the  which  none  but  a  king  might  hold  priv 
ilege  and  prerogative  to  utter,  would  such  commandment  be 
obeyed,  and  none  rise  up  to  say  me  nay  ?" 

"  None,  my  liege,  in  all  these  realms.  In  thy  person 
bides  the  majesty  of  England.  Thou  art  the  king — thy  word 
is  law." 

Tom  responded,  in  a  strong,  earnest  voice,  and  with  great 
animation — 

"  Then  shall  the  king's  law  be  law  of  mercy,  from  this  day, 
and  never  more  be  law  of  blood  !  Up  from  thy  knees  and 
away  !  To  the  Tower  and  say  the  king  decrees  the  duke  of 
Norfolk  shall  not  die  !  "  * 

The  words  were  caught  up  and  carried  eagerly  from  lip  to 
lip  far  and  wide  over  the  hall,  and  as  Hertford  hurried  from 
the  presence,  another  prodigious  shout  burst  forth  — 

"  The  reign  of  blood  is  ended  !  Long  live  Edward,  king 
of  England  !  " 

*  See  Note  7,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    PRINCE  AND    HIS  DELIVERER. 

As  soon  as  Miles  Hendon  and  the  little  prince  were  clear 
of  the  mob,  they  struck  down  through  back  lanes  and 
alleys  toward  the  river.  Their  way  was  unobstructed  until 
they  approached  London  Bridge  ;  then  they  ploughed  into 
the  multitude  again,  Hendon  keeping  a  fast  grip  upon  the 
prince's — no,  the  king's — wrist.  The  tremendous  news  was 
already  abroad,  and  the  boy  learned  it  from  a  thousand  voices 
at  once — "  The  king  is  dead  !  "  The  tidings  struck  a  chill 
to  the  heart  of  the  poor  little  waif,  and  sent  a  shudder  through 
his  frame.  He  realized  the  greatness  of  his  loss,  and  was 
filled  with  a  bitter  grief  ;  for  the  grim  tyrant  who  had  been 
such  a  terror  to  others  had  always  been  gentle  with  him. 
The  tears  sprung  to  his  eyes  and  blurred  all  objects.  For 
an  instant  he  felt  himself  the  most  forlorn,  outcast,  and  for 
saken  of  God's  creatures— then  another  cry  shook  the  night 
with  its  far-reaching  thunders  :  "  Long  live  King  Edward  the 
Sixth  !  "  and  this  made  his  eyes  kindle,  and  thrilled  him 
with  pride  to  his  fingers'  ends.  "  Ah,"  he  thought,  "how 
grand  and  strange  it  seems — I  AM  KING  !  " 

Our  friends  threaded  their  way  slowly  through  the  throngs 
upon  the  Bridge.  This  structure,  which  had  stood  for  six 
hundred  years,  and  had  been  a  noisy  and  populous  thorough 
fare  all  that  time,  was  a  curious  affair,  for  a  closely  packed 
rank  of  stores  and  shops,  with  family  quarters  overhead, 
stretched  along  both  sides  of  it,  from  one  bank  of  the  river 
to  the  other.  The  Bridge  was  a  sort  of  town  to  itself  ;  it  had 


92  THE   PRINCE    AND    HIS    DELIVERER. 

its  inn,  its  beer  houses,  its  bakeries,  its  haberdasheries,  its 
food  markets,  its  manufacturing  industries,  and  even  its 
church.  It  looked  upon  the  two  neighbors  which  it  linked 


"OUR    FRIENDS    THREADED    THEIR    WAY." 

together—London  and  Southwark— as  being  well  enough,  as 
suburbs,  but  not  otherwise  particularly  important.  It  was  a 
close  corporation,  so  to  speak  ;  it  was  a  narrow  town,  of  a 


THE   PRINCE   AND    HIS   DELIVERER.  93 

single  street  a  fifth  of  a.  mile  long,  its  population  was  but  a 
village  population,  and  everybody  in  it  knew  all  his  fellow 
townsmen  intimately,  and  had  known  their  fathers  and  mo 
thers  before  them — and  all  their  little  family  affairs  into  the 
bargain.  It  had  its  aristocracy,  of  course — its  fine  old  fami 
lies  of  butchers,  and  bakers,  and  what-not,  who  had  occupied 
the  same  old  premises  for  five  or  six  hundred  years,  and 
knew  the  great  history  of  the  Bridge  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  all  its  strange  legends;  and  who  always  talked  bridgy 
talk,  and  thought  bridgy  thoughts,  and  lied  in  a  long,  level, 
direct,  substantial  bridgy  way.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  popu 
lation  to  be  narrow  and  ignorant  and  self-conceited.  Chil 
dren  were  born  on  the  Bridge,  were  reared  there,  grew  to  old 
age  and  finally  died  without  ever  having  set  a  foot  upon  any 
part  of  the  world  but  London  Bridge  alone.  Such  people 
would  naturally  imagine  that  the  mighty  and  interminable 
procession  which  moved  through  its  street  night  and  day, 
with  its  confused  roar  of  shouts  and  cries,  its  neighings  and 
bellowings  and  bleatings  and  its  muffled  thunder-tramp,  was 
the  one  great  thing  in  this  world,  and  themselves  somehow 
the  proprietors  of  it.  And  so  they  were  in  effect — at  least 
they  could  exhibit  it  from  their  windows,  and  did — for  a 
consideration  —  whenever  a  returning  king  or  hero  gave 
it  a  fleeting  splendor,  for  there  was  no  place  like  it  for 
affording  a  long,  straight,  uninterrupted  view  of  marching 
columns. 

Men  born  and  reared  upon  the  Bridge  found  life  unendur- 
ably  dull  and  inane,  elsewhere.  History  tells  of  one  of  these 
who  left  the  Bridge  at  the  age  of  seventy-one  and  retired  to 
the  country.  But  he  could  only  fret  and  toss  in  his  bed;  he 
could  not  go  to  sleep,  the  deep  stillness  was  so  painful,  so 
awful,  so  oppressive.  When  he  was  worn  out  with  it,  at  last, 
he  fled  back  to  his  old  home,  a  lean  and  haggard  spectre, 
and  fell  peacefully  to  rest  and  pleasant  dreams  under  the 


94  THE   PRINCE   AND    HIS   DELIVERER. 

lulling  music  of  the  lashing  waters  and  the  boom  and  crash 
and  thunder  of  London  Bridge. 

In  the  times  of  which  we  are  writing,  the  Bridge  furnished 
"  object  lessons  "  in  English  history,  for  its  children — name 
ly,  the  livid  and  decaying  heads  of  renowned  men  impaled 
upon  iron  spikes  atop  of  its  gateways.  But  we  digress. 

Hendon's  lodgings  were  in  the  little  inn  on  the  Bridge. 
As  he  neared  the  door  with  his  small  friend,  a  rough  voice 
said — 

"  So,  thou'rt  come  at  last  !  Thou'lt  not  escape  again,  I 
warrant  thee  ;  and  if  pounding  thy  bones  to  a  pudding  can 
teach  thee  somewhat,  thou'lt  not  keep  us  waiting  another 
time,  mayhap" — and  John  Canty  put  out  his  hand  to  seize 
the  boy. 

Miles  Hendon  stepped  in  the  way,  and  said— 

"  Not  too  fast,  friend.  Thou  art  needlessly  rough,  me- 
thinks.  What  is  the  lad  to  thee  ? " 

"  If  it  be  any  business  of  thine  to  make  and  meddle  in 
others'  affairs,  he  is  my  son." 

"  'Tis  a  lie  ! "  cried  the  little  king,  hotly. 

"  Boldly  said,  and  I  believe  thee,  whether  thy  small  head 
piece  be  sound  or  cracked,  my  boy.  But  whether  this  scurvy 
ruffian  be  thy  father  or  no,  'tis  all  one,  he  shall  not  have  thee 
to  beat  thee  and  abuse,  according  fo  his  threat,  so  thou  pre 
fer  to  bide  with  me." 

"I  do,  I  do — I  know  him  not,  I  loathe  him,  and  will  die 
before  I  will  go  with  him." 

"Then  'tis  settled,  and  there  is  nought  more  to  say." 

"  We  will  see,  as  to  that  !  "  exclaimed  John  Canty,  strid 
ing  past  Hendon  to  get  at  the  boy;  "  by  force  shall  he  "- 

"  If  thou  do  but  touch  him,  thou  animated  offal,  I  will  spit 
thee  like  a  goose  !  "  said  Hendon,  barring  the  way  and  lay 
ing  his  hand  upon  his  sword  hilt.  Canty  drew  back.  "  Now 
mark,  ye/'  continued  Hendon,  "I  took  this  lad  under  my 


THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER.  95 

protection  when  a  mob  of  such  as  thou  would  have  mishan 
dled  him,  mayhap  killed  him;  dost  imagine  I  will  desert  him 
now  to  a  worser  fate  ? — for  whether  thou  art  his  father  or  no, 
— and  sooth  to  say,  I  think  it  is  a  lie — a  decent  swift  death 
were  better  for  such  a  lad  than  life  in  such  brute  hands  as 
thine.  So  go  thy  ways,  and  set  quick  about  it,  for  I  like  not 
much  bandying  of  words,  being  not  over-patient  in  my 
nature." 

John  Canty  moved  off,  muttering  threats  and  curses,  and 
was  swallowed  from  sight  in  the  crowd.  Hendon  ascended 
three  flights  of  stairs  to  his  room,  with  his  charge,  after 
ordering  a  meal  to  be  sent  thither.  It  was  a  poor  apartment, 
with  a  shabby  bed  and  some  odds  and  ends  of  old  furniture 
in  it,  and  was  vaguely  lighted  by  a  couple  of  sickly  candles. 
The  little  king  dragged  himself  to  the  bed  and  lay  down  upon 
it,  almost  exhausted  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  He  had  been 
on  his  feet  a  good  part  of  a  day  and  a  night,  for  it  was  now 
two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  had  eaten  nothing 
meantime.  He  murmured  drowsily — 

"  Prithee  call  me  when  the  table  is  spread,"  and  sunk  into 
a  deep  sleep  immediately. 

A  smile  twinkled  in  Hendon's  eye,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self— 

"  By  the  mass,  the  little  beggar  takes  to  one's  quarters  and 
usurps  one's  bed  with  as  natural  and  easy  a  grace  as  if  he 
owned  them — with  never  a  by-your-leave  or  so-please-it-you, 
or  anything  of  the  sort.  In  his  diseased  ravings  he  called 
himself  the  prince  of  Wales,  and  bravely  doth  he  keep  up  the 
character.  Poor  little  friendless  rat,  doubtless  his  mind  has 
been  disordered  with  ill  usage.  Well,  I  will  be  his  friend;  I 
have  saved  him,  and  it  draweth  me  strongly  to  him;  already 
I  love  the  bold-tongued  little  rascal.  How  soldier-like  he 
faced  the  smutty  rabble  and  flung  back  his  high  defiance  ! 
And  what  a  comely,  sweet  and  gentle  face  he  hath,  now  that 


T<HE   PRINCE    AND    HIS    DELIVERER. 


sleep  hath  conjured  away  its  troubles  and  its  griefs.  I  will 
teach  him,  I  will  cure  his  malady;  yea,  I  will  be  his  elder 
brother,  and  care  for  him  and  watch  over  him;  and  whoso 
would  shame  him  or  do  him  hurt,  may  order  his  shroud,  for 
though  I  be  burnt  for  it  he  shall  need  it  !  " 

He  bent  over  the  boy  and  contemplated  him  with  kind  and 
pitying  interest,  tapping  the  young  cheek  tenderly  and 
smoothing  back  the  tangled  curls  with  his  great  brown  hand. 


"  SMOOTHING  BACK  THE  TANGLED 
CURLS." 

A  slight  shiver  passed  over  the 
boy's  form.  Hendon  muttered — 
"  See,  now,  how  like  a  man  it 
was  to  let  him  lie  here  uncovered  and  fill  his  body  with  deadly 
rheums.  Now  what  shall  I  do  ?  'twill  wake  him  to  take  him 
up  and  put  him  within  the  bed,  and  he  sorely  needeth  sleep." 
He  looked  about  for  extra  covering,  but  finding  none, 
doffed  his  doublet  and  wrapped  the  lad  in  it,  saying,  "  I  am 
used  to  nipping  air  and  scant  apparel,  'tis  little  I  shall  mind 
the  cold  " — then  walked  up  and  down  the  room  to  keep  his 
blood  in  motion,  soliloquizing,  as  before. 


THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER.  97 

"His  injured  mind  persuades  him  he  is  prince  of  Wales; 
'twill  be  odd  to  have  a  prince  of  Wales  still  with  us,  now  that 
he  that  was  the  prince  is  prince  no  more,  but  king, — for  this 
poor  mind  is  set  upon  the  one  fantasy,  and  will  not  reason 
out  that  now  it  should  cast  by  the  prince  and  call  itself  the 
king.  ...  If  my  father  liveth  still,  after  these  seven  years 
that  I  have  heard  naught  from  home  in  my  foreign  dungeon, 
he  will  welcome  the  poor  lad  and  give  him  generous  shelter 
for  my  sake;  so  will  my  good  elder  brother,  Arthur;  my 
other  brother,  Hugh — but  I  will  crack  his  crown,  an  he  inter 
fere,  the  fox-hearted,  ill-conditioned  animal  !  Yes,  thither 
will  we  fare — and  straightway,  too." 

A  servant  entered  with  a  smoking  meal,  disposed  it  upon  a 
small  deal  table,  placed  the  chairs,  and  took  his  departure, 
leaving  such  cheap  lodgers  as  these  to  wait  upon  themselves. 
The  door  slammed  after  him,  and  the  noise  woke  the  boy, 
who  sprung  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  shot  a  glad  glance  about 
him  ;  then  a  grieved  look  came  into  his'  face  and  he  mur 
mured,  to  himself,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  Alack,  it  was  but  a 
dream,  woe  is  me."  Next  he  noticed  Miles  Hendon's  doub 
let — glanced  from  that  to  Hendon,  comprehended  the  sacri 
fice  that  had  been  made  for  him,  and  said,  gently — 

"  Thou  art  good  to  me,  yes,  thou  art  very  good  to  me. 
Take  it  and  put  it  on — I  shall  not  need  it  more." 

Then  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the  washstand  in  the  corner, 
and  stood  there,  waiting.  Hendon  said  in  a  cheery  voice — 

11  We'll  have  a  right  hearty  sup  and  bite,  now,  for  every 
thing  is  savory  and  smoking  hot,  and  that  and  thy  nap  to 
gether  will  make  thee  a  little  man  again,  never  fear  !  " 

The  boy  made  no  answer,  but  bent  a  steady  look,  that  was 
filled  with  grave  surprise,  and  also  somewhat  touched  with 
impatience,  upon  the  tall  knight  of  the  sword.     Hendon  was 
puzzled,  and  said — 
What's  amiss?" 

'UHI7BRSITY)) 
~Ll*V/ 


98  THE   PRINCE   AND    HIS   DELIVERER. 

"  Good  sir,  I  would  wash  me." 

"  O,  is  that  all  !  Ask  no  permission  of  Miles  Hendon  for 
aught  thou  cravest.  Make  thyself  perfectly  free  here,  and 
welcome,  with  all  that  are  his  belongings." 

Still  the  boy  stood,  and  moved  not;  more,  he  tapped  the 
floor  once  or  twice  with  his  small  impatient  foot.  Hendon 
was  wholly  perplexed.  Said  he — 

"  Bless  us,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Prithee  pour  the  water,  and  make  not  so  many  words  !  " 

Hendon,  suppressing  a  horse-laugh,  and  saying  to  him 
self,  "  By  all  the  saints,  but  this  is  admirable  !  "  stepped 
briskly  forward  and  did  the  small  insolent's  bidding;  then 
stood  by,  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction,  until  the  command, 
"  Come — the  towel  !  "  woke  him  sharply  up.  He  took  up  a 
towel,  from  under  the  boy's  nose,  and  handed  it  to  him,  with 
out  comment.  He  now  proceeded  to  comfort  his  own  face 
with  a  wash,  and  while  he  was  at  it  his  adopted  child  seated 
himself  at  the  table  and  prepared  to  fall  to.  Hendon  des 
patched  his  ablutions  with  alacrity,  then  drew  back  the  other 
chair  and  was  about  to  place  himself  at  table,  when  the  boy 
said,  indignantly — 

"  Forbear  !     Wouldst  sit  in  the  presence  of  the  king?" 

This  blow  staggered  Hendon  to  his  foundations.  He  mut 
tered  to  himself,  "  Lo,  the  poor  thing's  madness  is  up  with 
the  time  !  it  hath  changed  with  the  great  change  that  is  come 
to  the  realm,  and  now  in  fancy  is  he  king  !  Good  lack,  I 
must  humor  the  conceit,  too — there  is  no  other  way — faith,  he 
would  order  me  to  the  Tower,  else  ! " 

And  pleased  with  this  jest,  he  removed  the  chair  from  the 
table,  took  his  stand  behind  the  king,  and  proceeded  to  wait 
upon  him  in  the  courtliest  way  he  was  capable  of. 

When  the  king  ate,  the  rigor  of  his  royal  dignity  relaxed  a 
little,  and  with  his  growing  contentment  came  a  desire  to  talk. 
He  said — 


THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


99 


"  I  think  thou  callest  thyself  Miles  Hendon,  if  I  heard 
thee  aright? " 

"Yes,  sire,"  Miles  replied;  then  observed  to  himself,  "If 
I  must  humor  the  poor  lad's  madness,  I  must  sire  him,  I 
must  majesty  him,  I  must  not  go  by  halves,  I  must  stick  at 
nothing  that  belongeth  to  the  part  I  play,  else  shall  I  play  it 
ill  and  work  evil  to  this  charitable  and  kindly  cause/' 

The  king  warmed  his  heart  with  a  second  glass  of  wine, 
and  said — "  I  would  know  thee — tell  me  thy  story.  Thou 


hast  a   gallant   way   with 
thee,    and    a    noble  —  art 
'!         nobly  born  ? " 

,  "We  are  of  the  tail  of 

"GO  ON— TELL  ME  THY  STORY."     the    nobility,    good    your 

majesty.     My  father  is  a 

baronet — one  of  the  smaller  lords,  by  knight  service*— rSir 
Richard  Hendon,  of  Hendon  Hall,  by  Monk's  Holm  in  Kent." 

*  He  refers  to  the  order  of  baronets,  or  baronettes, — the  barones 
minores,  as  distinct  from  the  parliamentary  barons; — not,  it  need  hard 
ly  be  said,  the  baronets  of  later  creation. 


100  THE   PRINCE   AND    HIS   DELIVERER. 

"  The  name  has  escaped  my  memory.  Go  on — tell  me 
thy  story." 

"  'Tis  not  much,  your  majesty,  yet  perchance  it  may  be 
guile  a  short  half  hour  for  want  of  a  better.  My  father,  Sir 
Richard,  is  very  rich,  and  of  a  most  generous  nature.  My 
mother  died  whilst  I  was  yet  a  boy.  I  have  two  brothers: 
Arthur,  my  elder,  with  a  soul  like  to  his  father's;  and  Hugh, 
younger  than  I,  a  mean  spirit,  covetous,  treacherous,  vicious, 
underhanded — a  reptile.  Such  was  he  from  the  cradle;  such 
was  he  ten  years  past,  when  I  last  saw  him— a  ripe  rascal  at 
nineteen,  I  being  twenty,  then,  and  Arthur  twenty  -  two. 
There  is  none  other  of  us  but  the  lady  Edith,  my  cousin — 
she  was  sixteen,  then — beautiful,  gentle,  good,  the  daughter 
of  an  earl,  the  last  of  her  race,  heiress  of  a  great  fortune  and 
a  lapsed  title.  My  father  was  her  guardian.  I  loved  her 
and  she  loved  me;  but  she  was  betrothed  to  Arthur  from  the 
cradle,  and  Sir  Richard  would  not  suffer  the  contract  to  be 
broken.  Arthur  loved  another  maid,  and  bade  us  be  of  good 
cheer  and  hold  fast  to  the  hope  that  delay  and  luck  together 
would  some  day  give  success  to  our  several  causes.  Hugh 
loved  the  lady  Edith's  fortune,  though  in  truth  he  said  it 
was  herself  he  loved — but  then  'twas  his  way,  alway,  to  say 
the  one  thing  and  mean  the  other.  But  he  lost  his  arts  upon 
the  girl:  he  could  deceive  my  father,  but  none  else.  My 
father  loved  him  best  of  us  all,  and  trusted  and  believed 
him;  for  he  was  the  youngest  child  and  others  hated  him — 
these  qualities  being  in  all  ages  sufficient  to  win  a  parent's  dear 
est  love;  and  he  had  a  smooth  persuasive  tongue,  with  an  ad 
mirable  gift  of  lying — and  these  be  qualities  which  do  might 
ily  assist  a  blind  affection  to  cozen  itself.  I  was  wild — in  troth 
I  might  go  yet  farther  and  say  very  wild,  though  'twas  a  wild- 
ness  of  an  innocent  sort,  since  it  hurt  none  but  me,  brought 
shame  to  none,  nor  loss,  nor  had  in  it  any  taint  of  crime  or 
baseness,  or  what  might  not  beseem  mine  honorable  degree. 


THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER.  ,  1Q^ 

"  Yet  did  my  brother  Hugh  turn  these  faults  to  good  ac 
count — he  seeing  that  our  brother  Artrnir's*  h^rthi  \vasAbIit 
indifferent,  and  hoping  the  worst  might  work  him  profit  were 
I  swept  out  of  the  path — so, — but  'twere  a  long  tale,  good 
my  liege,  and  little  worth  the  telling.  Briefly,  then,  this 
brother  did  deftly  magnify  my  faults  and  make  them  crimes; 
ending  his  base  work  with  finding  a  silken  ladder  in  mine 
apartments — conveyed  thither  by  his  own  means — and  did 
convince  my  father  by  this,  and  suborned  evidence  of  ser 
vants  and  other  lying  knaves,  that  I  was  minded  to  carry  off 
my  Edith  and  marry  with  her,  in  rank  defiance  of  his  will. 

"  Three  years  of  banishment  from  home  and  England 
might  make  a  soldier  and  a  man  of  me,  my  father  said,  and 
teach  me  some  degree  of  wisdom.  I  fought  out  my  long  pro 
bation  in  the  continental  wars,  tasting  sumptuously  of  hard 
knocks,  privation  and  adventure;  but  in  my  last  battle  I  was 
taken  captive,  and  during  the  seven  years  that  have  waxed 
and  waned  since  then,  a  foreign  dungeon  hath  harbored  me. 
Through  wit  and  courage  I  won  to  the  free  air  at  last,  and 
fled  hither  straight;  and  am  but  just  arrived,  right  poor  in 
purse  and  raiment,  and  poorer  still  in  knowledge  of  what  these 
dull  seven  years  have  wrought  at  Hendon  Hall,  its  people 
and  belongings.  So  please  you,  sir,  my  meagre  tale  is  told." 

"  Thou  hast  been  shamefully  abused  !  "  said  the  little 
king,  with  a  flashing  eye.  "  But  I  will  right  thee — by  the 
cross  will  I  !  The  king  hath  said  it." 

Then,  fired  by  the  story  of  Miles's  wrongs,  he  loosed  his 
tongue  and  poured  the  history  of  his  own  recent  misfortunes 
into  the  ears  of  his  astonished  listener.  When  he  had  fin 
ished,  Miles  said  to  himself — 

"  Lo,  what  an  imagination  he  hath  !  Verily  this  is  no  com 
mon  mind;  else,  crazed  or  sane,  it  could  not  weave  so  straight 
and  gaudy  a  tale  as  this  out  of  the  airy  nothings  wherewith 
it  hath  wrought  this  curious  romaunt.  Poor  ruined  little. 


-IQ2  THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 

.  head,  it  shall  not  lack -friend  or  shelter  whilst  I  bide  with  the 
living.1'  .He  s-hall  never  leave  my  side;  he  shall  be  my  pet, 
my  little  comrade.  And  he  shall  be  cured  ! — aye,  made 
whole  and  sound — then  will  he  make  himself  a  name — and 
proud  shall  I  be  to  say,  ;  Yes,  he  is  mine — I  took  him,  a 
homeless  little  ragamuffin,  but  I  saw  what  was  in  him,  and  I 
said  his  name  would  be  heard  some  day — behold  him,  ob 
serve  him — was  I  right  ?'  " 

The  king  spoke — in  a  thoughtful,  measured  voice — 

"  Thou  didst  save  me  injury  and  shame,  perchance  my 
life,  and  so  my  crown.  Such  service  demandeth  rich  reward. 
Name  thy  desire,  and  so  it  be  within  the  compass  of  my  royal 
power,  it  is  thine." 

This  fantastic  suggestion  startled  Hendon  out  of  his  rev- 
ery.  He  was  about  to  thank  the  king  and  put  the  matter 
aside  with  saying  he  had  only  done  his  duty  and  desired  no 
reward,  but  a  wiser  thought  came  into  his  head,  and  he  asked 
leave  to  be  silent  a  few  moments  and  consider  the  gracious 
offer — an  idea  which  the  king  gravely  approved,  remarking 
that  it  was  best  to  be  not  too  hasty  with  a  thing  of  such  great 
import. 

Miles  reflected  during  some  moments,  then  said  to  him 
self,  "  Yes,  that  is  the  thing  to  do — by  any  other  means  it 
were  impossible  to  get  at  it — and  certes,  this  hour's  experi 
ence  has  taught  me  'twould  be  most  wearing  and  inconven 
ient  to  continue  it  as  it  is.  Yes,  I  will  propose  it;  'twas  a 
happy  accident  that  I  did  not  throw  the  chance  away."  Then 
he  dropped  upon  one  knee  and  said — 

"  My  poor  service  went  not  beyond  the  limit  of  a  subject's 
simple  duty,  and  therefore  hath  no  merit;  but  since  your 
majesty  is  pleased  to  hold  it  worthy  some  reward,  I  take  heart 
of  grace  to  make  petition  to  this  effect.  Near  four  hundred 
years  ago,  as  your  grace  knowetti,  there  being  ill  blood  be 
twixt  John,  King  of  England,  and  the  King  of  France,  it  was 


THE   PRINCE    AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


103 


decreed  that  two  champions  should  fight  together  in  the  lists, 
and  so  settle  the  dispute  by  what  is  called  the  arbitrament  of 
God.  These  two  kings,  and  the  Spanish  king,  being  assem 
bled  to  witness  and  judge  the  conflict,  the  French  champion 
appeared ;  but  so  redoubtable  was  he,  that  our  English  knights 
refused  to  measure  weapons  with  him.  So  the  matter,  which 
was  a  weighty  one,  was  like  to  go  against  the  English  mon- 


HE    DROPPED    ON    ONE    KNEE. 


arch  by  default.  Now  in  the  Tower  lay  the  lord  de  Courcy, 
the  mightiest  arm  in  England,  stripped  of  his  honors  and 
possessions,  and  wasting  with  long  captivity.  Appeal  was 
made  to  him;  he  gave  assent,  and  came  forth  arrayed  for 
battle;  but  no  sooner  did  the  Frenchman  glimpse  his  huge 
frame  and  hear  his  famous  name  but  he  fled  away,  and  the 
French  king's  cause  was  lost.  King  John  restored  de  Cour- 


104  THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 

cy's  titles  and  possessions,  and  said,  «  Name  thy  wish  and 
thou  shalt  have  it,  though  it  cost  me  half  my  kingdom; ' 
whereat  de  Courcy,  kneeling,  as  I  do  now,  made  answer, 
'  This,  then,  I  ask,  my  liege;  that  I  and  my  successors  may 
have  and  hold  the  privilege  of  remaining  covered  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  kings  of  England,  henceforth  while  the  throne 
shall  last.'  The  boon  was  granted,  as  your  majesty  knoweth; 
and  there  hath  been  no  time,  these  four  hundred  years,  that 
that  line  has  failed  of  an  heir;  and  so,  even  unto  this  day, 
the  head  of  that  ancient  house  still  weareth  his  hat  or  helm 
before  the  king's  majesty,  without  let  or  hindrance,  and  this 
none  other  may  do.*  Invoking  this  precedent  in  aid  of  my 
prayer,  I  beseech  the  king  to  grant  to  me  but  this  one  grace 
and  privilege — to  my  more  than  sufficient  reward — and  none 
other,  to  wit:  that  I  and  my  heirs,  forever,  may  sit  in  the 
presence  of  the  majesty  of  England  !  " 

"  Rise,  Sir  Miles  Hendon>  Knight,"  said  the  king, 
gravely — giving  the  accolade  with  Hendon's  sword — "  rise, 
and  seat  thyself.  Thy  petition  is  granted.  Whilst  Eng 
land  remains,  and  the  crown  continues,  the  privilege  shall 
not  lapse." 

His  majesty  walked  apart,  musing,  and  Hendon  dropped 
into  a  chair  , at  table,  observing  to  himself,  "  'Twas  a  brave 
thought,  and  hath  wrought  me  a  mighty  deliverance;  my  legs 
are  grievously  wearied.  An'  I  had  not  thought  of  that,  I 
must  have  had  to  stand  for  weeks,  till  my  poor  lad's  wits  are 
cured."  After  a  little,  he  went  on,  "  And  so  I  am  become 
a  knight  of  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows  !  A  most 
odd  and  strange  position,  truly,  for  one  so  matter-of-fact  as 
I.  I  will  not  laugh — no,  God  forbid,  for  this  thing  which  is 
so  substanceless  to  me  is  real  to  him.  And  to  me,  also,  in 
one  way,  it  is  not  a  falsity,  for  it  reflects  with  truth  the  sweet 

*  The  lords  of  Kingsale,  descendants  of  de  Courcy,  still  enjoy  this 
curious  privilege. 


THE   PRINCE   AND   HIS   DELIVERER.  105 

and  generous  spirit  that  is  in  him."  After  a  pause:  "  Ah, 
what  if  he  should  call  me  by  my  fine  title  before  folk  ! — 
there'd  be  a  merry  contrast  betwixt  my  glory  and  my  rai 
ment  !  But  no  matter:  let  him  call  me  what  he  will,  so  it 
please  him;  I  shall  be  content." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE    DISAPPEARANCE    OF    THE    PRINCE. 

A  HEAVY  drowsiness  presently  fell  upon  the  two  comrades. 
The  king  said — 

"  Remove  these  rags  " — meaning  his  clothing, 

Hendon  disapparelled  the  boy  without  dissent  or  remark, 
tucked  him  up  in  bed,  then  glanced  about  the  room,  saying 
to  himself,  ruefully,  "  He  hath  taken  my  bed  again,  as  before 
— marry,  what  shall  /  do?"  The  little  king  observed  his 
perplexity,  and  dissipated  it  with  a  word.  He  said,  sleepily— 

"Thou  wilt  sleep  athwart  the  door,  and  guard  it."  In  a 
moment  more  he  was  out  of  his  troubles,  in  a  deep  slumber. 

"  Dear  heart,  he  should  have  been  born  a  king  !  "  muttered 
Hendon,  admiringly;  "he  playeth  the  part  to  a  marvel." 

Then  he  stretched  himself  across  the  door,  on  the  floor, 
saying  contentedly — 

"  I  have  lodged  worse  for  seven  years;  'twould  be  but  ill 
gratitude  to  Him  above  to  find  fault  with  this." 

He  dropped  asleep  as  the  dawn  appeared.  Toward  noon 
he  rose,  uncovered  his  unconscious  ward — a  section  at  a  time 
—and  took  his  measure  with  a  string.  The  king  awoke,  just 
as  he  had  completed  his  work,  complained  of  the  cold,  and 
asked  what  he  was  doing. 

"'Tis  done,  now,  my  liege,"  said  Hendon;  "I  have  a  bit 
of  business  outside,  but  will  presently  return;  sleep  thou  again 
— thou  needest  it.  There — let  me  cover  thy  head  also — 
thou'lt  be  warm  the  sooner." 

The  king  was  back  in  dreamland  before  this  speech  was 

106 


THE   DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE.  IO/ 

ended.  Miles  slipped  softly  out,  and  slipped  as  softly  in 
again,  in  the  course  of  thirty  or  forty  minutes,  with  a  com 
plete  second-hand  suit  of  boy's  clothing,  of  cheap  material, 
and  showing  signs  of  wear;  but  tidy,  and  suited  to  the  season 
of  the  year.  He  seated  himself,  and  began  to  overhaul  his 
purchase,  mumbling  to  himself — 

"  A  longer  purse  would  have  got  a  better  sort,  but  when 
one  has  not  the  long  purse  one  must  be  content  with  what  a 
short  one  may  do — 

"  '  There  was  a  woman  in  our  town, 
In  our  town  did  dwell ' — 


"HE    DROPPED   ASLEEP." 

"  He  stirred,  methinks — I  must  sing  in  a  less  thunderous 
key;  'tis  not  good  to  mar  his  sleep,  with  this  journey  before 
him  and  he  so  wearied  out,  poor  chap.  .  .  .  This  gar 
ment — 'tis  well  enough — a  stitch  here  and  another  one  there 
will  set  it  aright.  This  other  is  better,  albeit  a  stitch  or  two 
will  not  come  amiss  in  it,  likewise.  .  .  .  These  be  very 
good  and  sound,  and  will  keep  his  small  feet  warm  and  dry 
— an  odd  new  thing  to  him,  belike,  since  he  has  doubtless 


108          THE   DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE. 

been  used  to  foot  it  bare,  winters  and  summers  the  same.  .  .  . 
Would  thread  were  bread,  seeing  one  getteth  a  year's  suffi 
ciency  for  a  farthing,  and  such  a  brave  big  needle  without  cost, 
for  mere  love.  Now  shall  I  have  the  demon's  own  time  to 
thread  it  !  " 

And  so  he  had.  He  did  as  men  have  always  done,  and 
probably  always  will  do,  to  the  end  of  time — held  the  needle 
still,  and  tried  to  thrust  the  thread  through  the  eye,  which  is 
the  opposite  of  a  woman's  way.  Time  and  time  again  the 
thread  missed  the  mark,  going  sometimes  on  one  side  of  the 
needle,  sometimes  on  the  other,  sometimes  doubling  up 
against  the  shaft ;  but  he  was  patient,  having  been  through 
these  experiences  before,  when  he  was  soldiering.  He  suc 
ceeded  at  last,  and  took  up  the  garment  that  had  lain  waiting, 
meantime,  across  his  lap,  and  began  his  work. 

"  The  inn  is  paid — the  breakfast  that  is  to  come,  included 
— and  there  is  wherewithal  left  to  buy  a  couple  of  donkeys 
and  meet  our  little  costs  for  the  two  or  three  days  betwixt 
this  and  the  plenty  that  awaits  us  at  Henclon  Hall  — 

"  '  She  loved  her  hus  ' — 

"  Body  o'  me  !    I  have  driven  the  needle  under  my  nail  ! 
It  matters  little — 'tis  not  a  novelty — yet  'tis  not  a 
convenience,  neither.    .    .    .    We  shall  be  merry  there,  little 
one,  never  doubt  it  !  Thy  troubles  will  vanish,  there,  and  like 
wise  thy  sad  distemper — 

"  '  She  loved  her  husband  dearilee, 
But  another  man' — 

"  These  be  noble  large  stitches  !  " — holding  the  garment 
up  and  viewing  it  admiringly — "  they  have  a  grandeur  and  a 
majesty  that  do  cause  these  small  stingy  ones  of  the  tailor- 
man  to  look  mightily  paltry  and  plebeian — 

"  '  She  loved  her  husband  dearilee, 
But  another  man  he  loved  she,'  — 


THE    DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE.          log 

"  Marry,  'tis  done — a  goodly  piece  of  work,  too,  and  wrought 
with  expedition.  Now  will  I  wake  him,  apparel  him,  pour  for 
him,  feed  him,  and  then  will  we  hie  us  to  the  mart  by  the 
Tabard  inn  in  Southwark  and — be  pleased  to  rise,  my  liege  ! 
— he  answereth  not — what  ho,  my  liege  ! — of  a  truth  must  I 
profane  his  sacred  person  with  a  touch,  sith  his  slumber  is 
deaf  to  speech.  What !  " 

He  threw  back  the  covers — the  boy  was  gone  ! 

He  stared  about  him  in  speechless  astonishment  for  a 
moment;  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  his  ward's  ragged  rai 
ment  was  also  missing,  then  he  began  to  rage  and  storm,  and 
shout  for  the  innkeeper. — At  that  moment  a  servant  entered 
with  the  breakfast. 

"  Explain,  thou  limb  of  Satan,  or  thy  time  is  come  !  "  roared 
the  man  of  war,  and  made  so  savage  a  spring  toward  the 
waiter  that  this  latter  could  not  find  his  tongue,  for  the  in 
stant,  for  fright  and  surprise.  "Where  is  the  boy  ?" 

In  disjointed  and  trembling  syllables  the  man  gave  the  in 
formation  desired. 

"  You  were  hardly  gone  from  the  place,  your  worship,  when 
a  youth  came  running  and  said  it  was  your  worship's  will  that 
the  boy  come  to  you  straight,  at  the  bridge-end  on  the  South 
wark  side.  I  brought  him  hither;  and  when  he  woke  the  lad 
and  gave  his  message,  the  lad  did  grumble  some  little  for 
being  disturbed  *  so  early,'  as  he  called  it,  but  straightway 
trussed  on  his  rags  and  went  with  the  youth,  only  saying  it 
had  been  better  manners  that  your  worship  came  yourself,  not 
sent  a  stranger — and  so  "- 

''And  so  thou'rt  a  fool  ! — a  fool,  and  easily  cozened — 
hang  all  thy  breed  !  Yet  mayhap  no  hurt  is  done.  Pos 
sibly  no  harm  is  meant  the  boy.  I  will  go  fetch  him.  Make 
the  table  ready.  Stay !  the  coverings  of  the  bed  were 
disposed  as  if  one  lay  beneath  them — happened  that  by 
accident  ? " 


110          THE   DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE. 

"  I  know  not,  good  your  worship.  I  saw  the  youth  meddle 
with  them — he  that  came  for  the  boy." 

"  Thousand  deaths  !  'twas  done  to  deceive  me — 'tis  plain 
'twas  done  to  gain  time.  Hark  ye  !  Was  that  youth  alone  ? " 

"All  alone,  your  worship." 

"Art  sure?" 

"Sure,  your  worship." 

"Collect  thy  scattered  wits — bethink  thee — take  time, 
man." 

After  a  moment's  thought,  the  servant  said— 

"When  he  came,  none  came  with  him;  but  now  I  remem 
ber  me  that  as  the  two  stepped  into  the  throng  of  the  Bridge, 
a  ruffian-looking  man  plunged  out  from  some  near  place; 
and  just  as  he  was  joining  them  " — 

"  What  then  ? — out  with  it !  "  thundered  the  impatient  Hen- 
don,  interrupting. 

"  Just  then  the  crowd  lapped  them  up  and  closed  them  in, 
and  I  saw  no  more,  being  called  by  my  master,  who  was  in  a 
rage  because  a  joint  that  the  scrivener  had  ordered  was  for 
got,  though  I  take  all  the  saints  to  witness  that  to  blame  me 
for  that  miscarriage  were  like  holding  the  unborn  babe  to 
judgment  for  sins  com"- 

"  Out  of  my  sight,  idiot  !  Thy  prating  drives  me  mad  ! 
Hold  !  whither  art  flying  ?  Canst  not  bide  still  an  instant  ? 
Went  they  toward  Southwark?" 

"Even  so,  your  worship — for,  as  I  said  before,  as  to  that 
detestable  joint,  the  babe  unborn  is  no  whit  more  blameless 
than  "- 

"Art  here  yet!  And  prating  still  ?  Vanish,  lest  I  throttle 
thee  !  "  The  servitor  vanished.  Hendon  followed  after  him, 
passed  him,  and  plunged  down  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  stride, 
muttering,  "  'Tis  that  scurvy  villain  that  claimed  he  was  his 
son.  I  have  lost  thee,  my  poor  little  mad  master — it  is  a  bit 
ter  thought — and  I  had  come  to  love  thee  so  !  No  !  by  book 


THE   DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE.          Ill 

and  bell,  not  lost  !  Not  lost,  for  I  will  ransack  the  land  till  I 
find  thee  again.  Poor  child,  yonder  is  his  breakfast — and 
mine,  but  I  have  no  hunger  now — so,  let  the  rats  have  it — 
speed,  speed  !  that  is  the  word  !  "  As  he  wormed  his  swift 
way  through  the  noisy  multitudes  upon  the  Bridge,  he  several 
times  said  to  himself — clinging  to  the  thought  as  if  it  were  a 
particularly  pleasing  one — "  He  grumbled,  but  he  went — he 
went,  yes,  because  he  thought  Miles  Hendon  asked  it,  sweet 
lad — he  would  ne'er  have  done  it  for  another,  I  know  it  well." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  LE     ROI    EST    MORT — VIVE    LE    ROI." 

TOWARD  daylight  of  the  same  morning,  Tom  Canty  stirred 
out  of  a  heavy  sleep  and  opened  his  eyes  in  the  dark.  He 
lay  silent  a  few  moments,  trying  to  analyze  his  confused 
thoughts  and  impressions,  and  get  some  sort  of  meaning  out 
of  them,  then  suddenly  he  burst  out  in  a  rapturous  but 
guarded  voice — 

"  I  see  it  all,  I  see  it  all  !  Now  God  be  thanked,  I  am  in 
deed  awake  at  last  !  Come,  joy  !  vanish,  sorrow !  Ho, 
Nan  !  Bet !  kick  off  your  straw  and  hie  ye  hither  to  my  side, 
till  I  do  pour  into  your  unbelieving  ears  the  wildest  madcap 
dream  that  ever  the  spirits  of  night  did  conjure  up  to  as 
tonish  the  soul  of  man  withal  !  .  .  .  Ho,  Nan,  I  say  ! 
Bet  !  "  .  .  . 

A  dim  form  appeared  at  his  side,  and  a  voice  said— 

"  Wilt  deign  to  deliver  thy  commands  ? " 

"Commands?  .  .  .  O,  woe  is  me,  I  know  thy  voice! 
Speak,  thou — who  am  I  ? " 

"  Thou  ?  In  sooth,  yesternight  wert  thou  the  prince  of 
Wales,  to-day  art  thou  my  most  gracious  liege,  Edward,  King 
of  England." 

Tom  buried  his  head  among  his  pillows,  murmuring  plaint 
ively — 

"  Alack,  it  was  no  dream  !  Go  to  thy  rest,  sweet  sir- 
leave  me  to  my  sorrows." 

Tom  slept  again,  and  after  a  time  he  had  this  pleasant 
dream.  He  thought  it  was  summer  and  he  was  playing,  all 


"  LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI."  113 

alone,  in  the  fair  meadow  called  Goodman's  Fields,  when 
a  dwarf  only  a  foot  high,  with  long  red  whiskers  and  a 
humped  back  appeared  to  him  suddenly  and  said,  "  Dig,  by 
that  stump."  He  did  so,  and  found  twelve  bright  new  pen 
nies — wonderful  riches  !  Yet  this  was  not  the  best  of  it;  for 
the  dwarf  said — 

"  I  know  thee.     Thou  art  a  good  lad  and  deserving;  thy 
distresses  shall  end,  for  the  day  of  thy  reward  is  come.     Dig 


"WILT   DEIGN   TO   DELIVER  THY   COMMANDS? 


here  every  seventh  day,  and  thou  shalt  find  always  the  same 
treasure,  twelve  bright  new  pennies.  Tell  none — keep  the 
secret." 

Then  the  dwarf  vanished,  and  Tom  flew  to  Offal  Court 
with  his  prize,  saying  to  himself,  "  Every  night  will  I  give 
my  father  a  penny;  he  will  think  I  begged  it,  it  will  glad  his 
heart,  and  I  shall  no  more  be  beaten.  One  penny  every 


114  "LE   ROI   EST   MORT— -VIVE   LE   ROI. 

week  the  good  priest  that  teacheth  me  shall  have;  mother, 
Nan  and  Bet  the  other  four.  We  be  done  with  hunger  and 
rags,  now,  done  with  fears  and  frets  and  savage  usage." 

In  his  dream  he  reached  his  sordid  home  all  out  of  breath, 
but  with  eyes  dancing  with  grateful  enthusiasm;  cast  four  of 
his  pennies  into  his  mother's  lap  and  cried  out — 

"  They  are  for  thee  ! — all  of  them,  every  one  ! — for  thee 
and  Nan  and  Bet — and  honestly  come  by,  not  begged  nor 
stolen  !  " 

The  happy  and  astonished  mother  strained  him  to  her 
breast  and  exclaimed — 

"  It  waxeth  late — may  it  please  your  majesty  to  rise  ?  " 

Ah,  that  was  not  the  answer  he  was  expecting.  The  dream 
had  snapped  asunder — he  was  awake. 

He  opened  his  eyes — the  richly  clad  First  Lord  of  the  Bed 
chamber  was  kneeling  by  his  couch.  The  gladness  of  the 
lying  dream  faded  away — the  poor  boy  recognized  that  he 
was  still  a  captive  and  a  king.  The  room  was  filled  with  court 
iers  clothed  in  purple  mantles — the  mourning  color — and 
with  noble  servants  of  the  monarch.  Tom  sat  up  in  bed  and 
gazed  out  from  the  heavy  silken  curtains  upon  this  fine  com 
pany. 

The  weighty  business  of  dressing  began,  and  one  courtier 
after  another  knelt  and  paid  his  court  and  offered  to  the  lit 
tle  King  his  condolences  upon  his  heavy  loss,  whilst  the  dress 
ing  proceeded.  In  the  beginning,  a  shirt  was  taken  up  by 
the  Chief  Equerry  in  Waiting,  who  passed  it  to  the  First 
Lord  of  the  Buckhounds,  who  passed  it  to  the  Second  Gen 
tleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  who  passed  it  to  the  Head  Ran 
ger  of  Windsor  Forest,  who  passed  it  to  the  Third  Groom  of 
the  Stole,  who  passed  it  to  the  Chancellor  Royal  of  the  Duchy 
of  Lancaster,  who  passed  it  to  the  Master  of  the  Wardrobe, 
who  passed  it  to  Norroy  King-at-Arms,  who  passed  it  to  the 
Constable  of  the  Tower,  who  passed  it  to  the  Chief  Steward 


"LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI."  115 

of  the  Household,  who  passed  it  to  the  Hereditary  Grand 
Diaperer,  who  passed  it  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral  of  Eng 
land,  who  passed  it  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who 
passed  it  to  the  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber,  who  took 
what  was  left  of  it  and  put  it  on  Torn.  Poor  little  wonder 
ing  chap,  it  reminded  him  of  passing  buckets  at  a  fire. 

Each  garment  in  its  turn  had  to  go  through  this  slow  and 
solemn  process;  consequently  Tom  grew  very  weary  of  the 
ceremony;  so  weary  that  he  felt  an  almost  gushing  grateful 
ness  when  he  at  last  saw  his  long  silken  hose  begin  the  jour- 


"THE   FIRST   LORD   OF  THE   BEDCHAMBER   RECEIVED   THE   HOSE." 

ney  down  the  line  and  knew  that  the  end  of  the  matter  was 
drawing  near.  But  he  exulted  too  soon.  The  first  Lord  of 
the  Bedchamber  received  the  hose  and  was  about  to  encase 
Tom's  legs  in  them,  when  a  sudden  flush  invaded  his  face  and 
he  hurriedly  hustled  the  things  back  into  the  hands  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  with  an  astounded  look  and  a  whis 
pered,  "See,  my  lord!"  —  pointing  to  a  something  con 
nected  with  the  hose.  The  Archbishop  paled,  then  flushed, 
and  passed  the  hose  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  whispering, 
"  See,  my  lord  ! "  The  Admiral  passed  the  hose  to  the  Her 
editary  Grand  Diaperer,  and  had  hardly  breath  enough  in  his 


Il6  "  LE  ROI  EST  MORT — VIVE  LE  ROI." 

body  to  ejaculate,  "  See,  my  lord  !  "  The  hose  drifted 
backward  along  the  line,  to  the  Chief  Steward  of  the  House 
hold,  the  Constable  of  the  Tower,  Norroy  King-at-Arms,  the 
Master  of  the  Wardrobe,  the  Chancellor  Royal  of  the  Duchy 
of  Lancaster,  the  Third  Groom  of  the  Stole,  the  Head  Ran 
ger  of  Windsor  Forest,  the  Second  Gentleman  of  the  Bed 
chamber,  the  First  Lord  of  the  Buckhounds,— accompanied 
always  with  that  amazed  and  frightened  "  See  !  see  !  " — till 
they  finally  reached  the  hands  of  the  Chief  Equerry  in 
Waiting,  who  gazed  a  moment,  with  a  pallid  face,  upon  what 
had  caused  all  this  dismay,  then  hoarsely  whispered,  "Body 
of  my  life,  a  tag  gone  from  a  truss  point ! — to  the  Tower 
with  the  Head  Keeper  of  the  King's  Hose  !  " — after  which  he 
leaned  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  First  Lord  of  the  Buck- 
hounds  to  regather  his  vanished  strength  whilst  fresh  hose, 
without  any  damaged  strings  to  them,  were  brought. 

But  all  things  must  have  an  end,  and  so  in  time  Tom  Can 
ty  was  in  a  condition  to  get  out  of  bed.  The  proper  official 
poured  water,  the  proper  official  engineered  the  washing,  the 
proper  official  stood  by  with  a  towel,  and  by  and  by  Tom  got 
safely  through  the  purifying  stage  and  was  ready  for  the  ser 
vices  of  the  Hairdresser-royal.  When  he  at  length  emerged 
from  this  master's  hands,  he  was  a  gracious  figure  and  as 
pretty  as  a  girl,  in  his  mantle  and  trunks  of  purple  satin,  and 
purple-plumed  cap.  He  now  moved  in  state  toward  his 
breakfast  room,  through  the  midst  of  the  courtly  assemblage; 
and  as  he  passed,  these  fell  back,  leaving  his  way  free,  and 
dropped  upon  their  knees. 

After  breakfast  he  was  conducted,  with  regal  ceremony,  at 
tended  by  his  great  officers  and  his  guard  of  fifty  Gentlemen 
Pensioners  bearing  gilt  battle-axes,  to  the  throne-room,  where 
he  proceeded  to  transact  business  of  state.  His  "uncle," 
lord  Hertford,  took  his  stand  by  the  throne,  to  assist  the  roy 
al  mind  with  wise  counsel. 


"LE   ROI   EST   MORT— VIVE   LE   ROI."  1 17 

The  body  of  illustrious  men  named  by  the  late  king  as  his 
executors,  appeared,  to  ask  Tom's  approval  of  certain  acts  of 
theirs — rather  a  form,  and  yet  not  wholly  a  form,  since  there 
was  no  Protector  as  yet.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
made  report  of  the  decree  of  the  Council  of  Executors  con 
cerning  the  obsequies  of  his  late  most  illustrious  majesty,  and 
finished  by  reading  the  signatures  of  the  Executors,  to-wit : 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury;  the  Lord  Chancellor  of  Eng 
land;  William  Lord  St.  John;  John  Lord  Russell;  Edward 
Earl  of  Hertford;  John  Viscount  Lisle;  Cuthbert  Bishop  of 
Durham — 

Tom  was  not  listening — an  earlier  clause  of  the  document 
was  puzzling  him.  At  this  point  he  turned  and  whispered  to 
lord  Hertford — 

"  What  day  did  he  say  the  burial  hath  been  appointed  for  ? " 

"  The  1 6th  of  the  coming  month,  my  liege.3' 

"  Tis  a  strange  folly.     Will  he  keep  ?  " 

Poor  chap,  he  was  still  new  to  the  customs  of  royalty;  he 
was  used  to  seeing  the  forlorn  dead  of  Offal  Court  hustled 
out  of  the  way  with  a  very  different  sort  of  expedition.  How 
ever,  the  lord  Hertford  set  his  mind  at  rest  with  a  word  or 
two. 

A  secretary  of  state  presented  an  order  of  the  Council  ap 
pointing  the  morrow  at  eleven  for  the  reception  of  the  foreign 
ambassadors,  and  desired  the  king's  assent. 

Tom  turned  an  inquiring  look  toward  Hertford,  who  whis 
pered— 

"  Your  majesty  will  signify  consent.  They  come  to  tes 
tify  their  royal  masters'  sense  of  the  heavy  calamity  which 
hath  visited  your  grace  and  the  realm  of  England." 

Tom  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Another  secretary  began  to 
read  a  preamble  concerning  the  expenses  of  the  late  king's 
household,  which  had  amounted  to  ^£28,000  during  the  pre 
ceding  six  months — a  sum  so  vast  that  it  made  Tom  Canty 


IlS  "LE   ROI   EST   MORT— VIVE   LE   ROI." 

gasp;  he  gasped  again  when  the  fact  appeared  that  ^20,000 
of  this  money  were  still  owing  and  unpaid;*  and  once  more 
when  it  appeared  that  the  king's  coffers  were  about  empty, 
and  his  twelve  hundred  servants  much  embarrassed  for  lack 
of  the  wages  due  them.  Tom  spoke  out,  with  lively  appre 
hension — 

"  We  be  going  to  the  dogs,  'tis  plain.  'Tis  meet  and  nec 
essary  that  we  take  a  smaller  house  and  set  the  servants  at 
large,  sith  they  be  of  no  value  but  to  make  delay,  and  trouble 
one  with  offices  that  harass  the  spirit  and  shame  the  soul, 
they  misbecoming  any  but  a  doll,  that  hath  nor  brains  nor 
hands  to  help  itself  withal.  I  remember  me  of  a  small 
house  that  standeth  over  against  the  fish-market,  by  Billings 
gate  " — 

A  sharp  pressure  upon  Tom's  arm  stopped  his  foolish 
tongue  and  sent  a  blush  to  his  face;  but  no  countenance 
there  betrayed  any  sign  that  this  strange  speech  had  been  re 
marked  or  given  concern, 

A  secretary  made  report  that  forasmuch  as  the  late  king 
had  provided  in  his  will  for  conferring  the  ducal  degree  upon 
the  earl  of  Hertford  and  raising  his  brother,  Sir  Thomas  Sey 
mour,  to  the  peerage,  and  likewise  Hertford's  son  to  an 
earldom,  together  with  similar  aggrandizements  to  other 
great  servants  of  the  crown,  the  Council  had  resolved  to  hold 
a  sitting  on  the  i6th  of  February  for  the  delivering  and  con 
firming  of  these  honors;  and  that  meantime,  the  late  king 
not  having  granted,  in  writing,  estates  suitable  to  the  sup 
port  of  these  dignities,  the  Council,  knowing  his  private 
wishes  in  that  regard,  had  thought  proper  to  grant  to  Sey 
mour  "^£500  lands,"  and  to  Hertford's  son  "  800  pound 
lands,  and  300  pound  of  the  next  bishop's  lands  which  should 
fall  vacant," — his  present  majesty  being  willing.* 

Tom  was  about  to  blurt  out  something  about  the  propri- 
*  Hume. 


"LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI."  IIQ 

ety  of  paying  the  late  King's  debts  first,  before  squandering 
all  this  money;  but  a  timely  touch  upon  his  arm,  from  the 
thoughtful  Hertford,  saved  him  this  indiscretion;  wherefore 
he  gave  the  royal  assent,  without  spoken  comment,  but  with 
much  inward  discomfort.  While  he  sat  reflecting,  a  moment, 
over  the  ease  with  which  he  was  doing  strange  and  glittering 
miracles,  a  happy  thought  shot  into  his  mind:  why  not  make 
his  mother  Duchess  of  Offal  Court  and  give  her  an  estate  ? 
But  a  sorrowful  thought  swept  it  instantly  away:  he  was  only 
a  king  in  name,  these  grave  veterans  and  great  nobles  were 
his  masters;  to  them  his  mother  was  only  the  creature  of  a 
diseased  mind;  they  would  simply  listen  to  his  project  with 
unbelieving  ears,  then  send  for  the  doctor. 

The  dull  work  went  tediously  on.  Petitions  were  read, 
and  proclamations,  patents,  and  all  manner  of  wordy,  repeti 
tious  and  wearisome  papers  relating  to  the  public  business; 
and  at  last  Tom  sighed  pathetically  and  murmured  to  him 
self,  "  In  what  have  I  offended,  that  the  good  God  should 
take  me  away  from  the  fields  and  the  free  air  and  the  sun 
shine,  to  shut  me  up  here  and  make  me  a  king  and  afflict  me 
so  ?  "  Then  his  poor  muddled  head  nodded  a  while,  and 
presently  dropped  to  his  shoulder;  and  the  business  of  the 
empire  came  to  a  stand-still  for  want  of  that  august  factor, 
the  ratifying  power.  Silence  ensued,  around  the  slumbering 
child,  and  the  sages  of  the  realm  ceased  from  their  deliber 
ations. 

During  the  forenoon,  Tom  had  an  enjoyable  hour,  by  per 
mission  of  his  keepers,  Hertford  and  St.  John,  with  the  lady 
Elizabeth  and  the  little  lady  Jane  Grey;  though  the  spirits 
of  the  princesses  were  rather  subdued  by  the  mighty  stroke 
that  had  fallen  upon  the  royal  house;  and  at  the  end  of  the 
visit  his  "  elder  sister  " — afterwards  the  "  Bloody  Mary  "  of 
history— chilled  him  with  a  solemn  interview  which  had  but 
one  merit  in  his  eyes,  its  brevity.  He  had  a  few  moments 


I2O  "  LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI." 

to  himself,  and  then  a  slim  lad  of  about  twelve  years  of  age 
was  admitted  to  his  presence,  whose  clothing,  except  his 
snowy  ruff  and  the  laces  about  his  wrists,  was  of  black, — 
doublet,  hose  and  all.  He  bore  no  badge  of  mourning  but  a 
knot  of  purple  ribbon  on  his  shoulder.  He  advanced  hesitat 
ingly,  with  head  bowed  and  bare,  and  dropped  upon  one  knee 
in  front  of  Tom.  Tom  sat  still  and  contemplated  him  sober 
ly  a  moment.  Then  he  said — 

"  Rise,  lad.     Who  art  thou  ?     What  wouldst  have  ? " 

The  boy  rose,  and  stood  at  graceful  ease,  but  with  an  as.- 
pect  of  concern  in  his  face.  He  said— 

"  Of  a  surety  thou  must  remember  me,  my  lord.  I  am  thy 
whipping-boy." 

"  My  whipping-boy  ?  " 

"The  same,  your  grace.  I  am  Humphrey — Humphrey 
Madow." 

Tom  perceived  that  here  was  some  one  whom  his  keepers 
ought  to  have  posted  him  about.  The  situation  was  delicate. 
What  should  he  do  ? — pretend  he  knew  this  lad,  and  then  be 
tray  by  his  every  utterance,  that  he  had  never  heard  of  him 
before  ?  No,  that  would  not  do.  An  idea  came  to  his  re 
lief:  accidents  like  this  might  be  likely  to  happen  with  some 
frequency,  now  that  business  urgencies  would  often  call  Hert 
ford  and  St.  John  from  his  side,  they  being  members  of  the 
council  of  executors;  therefore  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to 
strike  out  a  plan  himself  to  meet  the  requirements  of  such 
emergencies.  Yes,  that  would  be  a  wise  course — he  would 
practice  on  this  boy,  and  see  what  sort  of  success  he  might 
achieve.  So  he  stroked  his  brow,  perplexedly,  a  moment  or 
two,  and  presently  said— 

"  Now  I  seem  to  remember  thee  somewhat — but  my  wit  is 
clogged  and  dim  with  suffering  "— 

"  Alack,  my  poor  master  !  "  ejaculated  the  whipping-boy, 
with  feeling;  adding,  to  himself,  "In  truth  'tis  as  they  said 


"LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI."  121 

— his  mind  is  gone — alas,  poor  soul  !  But  misfortune  catch 
me,  how  am  I  forgetting  !  they  said  one  must  not  seem  to 
observe  that  aught  is  wrong  with  him." 

"  'Tis  strange  how  my  memory  doth  wanton  with  me  these 
days,"  said  Tom.  "  But  mind  it  not — I  mend  apace — a  little 
clew  doth  often  serve  to  bring  me  back  again  the  things  and 
names  which  had  escaped  me.  [And  not  they,  only,  forsooth, 
but  e'en  such  as  I  ne'er  heard  before — as  this  lad  shall  see.] 
Give  thy  business  speech." 

"  'Tis  matter  of  small  weight,  my  liege,  yet  will  I  touch 
upon  it  an'  it  please  your  grace.  Two  days  gone  by,  when 
your  majesty  faulted  thrice  in  your  Greek — in  the  morning 
lessons, — dost  remember  it  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s — methinks  I  do.  [It  is  not  much  of  a  lie — an' 
I  had  meddled  with  the»  Greek  at  all,  I  had  not  faulted 
simply  thrice,  but  forty  times.]  Yes,  I  do  recall  it,  noAv — 
go  on."  .  • 

—"The  master,  being  wroth  with  what  he  termed  such 
slovenly  and  doltish  work,  did  promise  that  he  would  soundly 
whip  me  for  it — and  "- 

"Whip  thee!"  said  Tom,  astonished  out  of  his  pres 
ence  of  mind.  "  Why  should  he  whip  thee  for  faults  of 
mine? " 

"Ah,  your  grace  forgetteth  again.  He  always  scourgeth 
me,  when  thou  dost  fail  in  thy  lessons." 

"  True,  true — I  had  forgot.  Thou  teachest  me  in  private 
—then  if  I  fail,  he  argueth  that  thy  office  was  lamely  done, 
and  "— 

UO,  my  liege,  what  words  are  these  ?  I,  the  humblest  of 
thy  servants,  presume  to  teach  thee  ?  " 

"  Then  where  is  thy  blame  ?  What  riddle  is  this  ?  Am  I 
in  truth  gone  mad,  or  is  it  thou  ?  Explain — speak  out." 

"  But  good  your  majesty,  there's  nought  thatneedeth  simpli 
fying. — None  may  visit  the  sacred  person  of  the  prince  of 


122 


"LE   ROI   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI." 


Wales  with  blows;  wherefore  when  he  faulteth,  'tis  I  that  take 
them;  and  meet  it  is  and  right,  for  that  it  is  mine  office  and  my 
livelihood."* 

Tom  stared  at  the  tranquil  boy,  observing  to  himself,  u  Lo, 
it  is  a  wonderful  thing, — a  most  strange  and  curious  trade;  I 
marvel  they  have  not  hired  a  boy  to  take  my  combings  and 
my  dressings  for  me — would  heaven  they  would! — an' they 
will  do  this  thing,  I  will  take  my  lashings  in  mine  own  person, 
giving  God  thanks  for  the  change."  Then 
he  said  aloud — 

"And  hast  thou  been  beaten, 
poor    friend,    according    to    the 
promise  ?  " 

No,  good  your  majesty, 
my  punishment  was  ap 
pointed  for  this  day, 
and  peradventure  it 
may  be  annulled,  as 
unbefitting  the  season 
of  mourning  that  is 
come  upon  us;  I  know 
not,  and  so  have 
made  bold  to  come 
hither  and  remind 
your  grace  about  your 
gracious  promise  to 
intercede  in  my  be 
half  "— 

"  With  the  master  ?     To  save  thee  thy  whipping  ?  " 
"  Ah  thou  dost  remember!" 

"  My  memory  mendeth,  thou  seest     Set  thy  mind  at  ease 
—thy  back  shall  go  unscathed — I  will  see  to  it." 
"  O,  thanks,  my  good  lord!  "  cried  the  boy,  dropping  upon 
*  See  Note  8,  at  end  of  volume. 


TIS    I   THAT   TAKE   THEM.' 


"  LE   ROI  EST   MORT — VIVE  LE   ROI."  123 

his  knee  again.  "  Mayhap  I  have  ventured  far  enow;  and 
yet"  .  .  . 

Seeing  Master  Humphrey  hesitate,  Tom  encouraged  him  to 
go  on,  saying  he  was  "  in  the  granting  mood." 

"  Then  will  I  speak  it  out,  for  it  lieth  near  my  heart.  Sith 
thou  art  no  more  prince  of  Wales  but  King,  thou  canst  order 
matters  as  thou  wilt,  with  none  to  say  thee  nay;  wherefore  it 
is  not  in  reason  that  thou  wilt  longer  vex  thyself  with  dreary 
studies,  but  wilt  burn  thy  books  and  turn  thy  mind  to  things 
less  irksome.  Then  am  I  ruined,  and  mine  orphan  sisters 
with  me!  " 

"  Ruined  ?     Prithee  how  ?  " 

"  My  back  is  my  bread,  O  my  gracious  liege!  if  it  go  idle, 
I  starve.  An'  thou  cease  from  study,  mine  office  is  gone, 
thou'lt  need  no  whipping-boy.  Do  not  turn  me  away! " 

Tom  was  touched  with  this  pathetic  distress.  He  said,  with 
a  right  royal  burst  of  generosity — 

"  Discomfort  thyself  no  further,  lad.  Thine  office  shall  be 
permanent  in  thee  and  thy  line,  forever."  Then  he  struck 
the  boy  a  light  blow  on  the  shoulder  with  the  flat  of  his  sword, 
exclaiming,  "Rise,  Humphrey  Marlow,  Hereditary  Grand 
Whipping-Boy  to  the  royal  house  of  England!  Banish  sor 
row — I  will  betake  me  to  my  books  again,  and  study  so  ill 
that  they  must  in  justice  treble  thy  wage,  so  mightily  shall 
the  business  of  thine  office  be  augmented." 

The  grateful  Humphrey  responded  fervidly — 

"  Thanks,  O  most  noble  master,  this  princely  lavishness 
doth  far  surpass  my  most  distempered  dreams  of  fortune. 
Now  shall  I  be  happy  all  my  days,  and  all  the  house  of  Mar- 
low  after  me." 

Tom  had  wit  enough  to  perceive  that  here  was  a  lad  who 
could  be  useful  to  him.  He  encouraged  Humphrey  to  talk, 
and  he  was  nothing  loath.  He  was  delighted  to  believe  that 
he  was  helping  in  Tom's  "  cure;  "  for  always,  as  soon  as  he 


124  "  LE   RO1   EST   MORT — VIVE   LE   ROI." 

had  finished  calling  back  to  Tom's  diseased  mind  the  various 
particulars  of  his  experiences  and  adventures  in  the  royal 
school-room  and  elsewhere  about  the  palace,  he  noticed  that 
Tom  was  then  able  to  "  recall"  the  circumstances  quite 
clearly.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  Tom  found  himself  well 
freighted  with  very  valuable  information  concerning  person 
ages  and  matters  pertaining  to  the  Court;  so  he  resolved  to 
draV  instruction  from  this  source  daily;  and  to  this  end  he 
would  give  order  to  admit  Humphrey  to  the  royal  closet 
whenever  he  might  come,  provided  the  majesty  of  England 
was  not  engaged  with  other  people.  Humphrey  had  hardly 
been  dismissed  when  my  lord  Hertford  arrived  with  more 
trouble  for  Tom. 

He  said  that  the  lords  of  the  Council,  fearing  that  some 
overwrought  report  of  the  king's  damaged  health  might  have 
leaked  out  and  got  abroad,  they  deemed  it  wise  and  best  that 
his  majesty  should  begin  to  dine  in  public  after  a  day  or  two 
— his  wholesome  complexion  and  vigorous  step,  assisted  by  a 
carefully  guarded  repose  of  manner  and  ease  and  grace  of 
demeanor,  would  more  surely  quiet  the  general  pulse — incase 
any  evil  rumors  had  gone  about — than  any  other  scheme  that 
could  be  devised. 

Then  the  earl  proceeded,  very  delicately,  to  instruct  Tom 
as  to  the  observances  proper  to  the  stately  occasion,  under 
the  rather  thin  disguise  of  "reminding"  him  concerning 
things  already  known  to  him;  but  to  his  vast  gratification  it 
turned  out  that  Tom  needed  very  little  help  in  this  line — he 
had  been  making  use  of  Humphrey  in  that  direction,  for 
Humphrey  had  mentioned  that  within  a  few  days  he  was  to 
begin  to  dine  in  public;  having  gathered  it  from  the  swift- 
winged  gossip  of  the  Court.  Tom  kept  these  facts  to  himself 
however. 

Seeing  the  royal  memory  so  improved,  the  earl  ventured  to 
apply  a  few  tests  to  it,  in  an  apparently  casual  way.  to  find 


"LE  ROI  EST  MORT— VIVE  LE  ROl."  125 

out  how  far  its  amendment  had  progressed.  The  results  were 
happy,  here  and  there,  in  spots — spots  where  Humphrey's 
tracks  remained — and  on  the  whole  my  lord  was  greatly 
pleased  and  encouraged.  So  encouraged  was  he,  indeed,  that 
he  spoke  up  and  said  in  a  quite  hopeful  voice — 

"  Now  am  I  persuaded  that  if  your  majesty  will  but  tax 
your  memory  yet  a  little  further,  it  will  resolve  the  puzzle  of 
the  Great  Seal — a  loss  which  was  of  moment  yesterday,  al 
though  of  none  to-day,  since  its  term  of  service  ended  with  our 
late  lord's  life.  May  it  please  your  grace  to  make  the  trial  ? " 

Tom  was  at  sea — a  Great  Seal  was  a  something  which  he 
was  totally  unacquainted  with.  After  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  looked  up  innocently  and  asked — • 

"  What  was  it  like,  my  Lord  ? " 

The  earl  started,  almost  imperceptibly,  muttering  to  him 
self,  "  Alack,  his  wits  are  flown  again! — it  was  ill  wisdom 
to  lead  him  on  to  strain  them" — then  he  deftly  turned  the 
talk  to  other  matters,  with  the  purpose  of  sweeping  the  un 
lucky  Seal  out  of  Tom's  thoughts — a  purpose  which  easily 
succeeded. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TOM     AS     KING. 

THE  next  day  the  foreign  ambassadors  came,  with  their 
gorgeous  trains;  and  Tom,  throned  in  awful  state,  received 
them.  The  splendors  of  the  scene  delighted  his  eye  and 
fired  his  imagination,  at  first,  but  the  audience  was  long  and 
dreary,  and  so  were  most  of  the  addresses — wherefore,  what 
began  as  a  pleasure,  grew  into  weariness  and  homesickness 
by  and  by.  Tom  said  the  words  which  Hertford  put  into  his 
mouth  from  time  to  time,  and  tried  hard  to  acquit  himself 
satisfactorily,  but  he  was  too  new  to  such  things,  and  too  ill 
at  ease  to  accomplish  more  than  a  tolerable  success.  He 
looked  sufficiently  like  a  king,  but  he  was  ill  able  to  feel  like 
one.  He  was  cordially  glad  when  the  ceremony  was  ended. 

The  larger  part  of  his  day  was  "  wasted  " — as  he  termed  it, 
in  his  own  mind — in  labors  pertaining  to  his  royal  office. 
Even  the  two  hours  devoted  to  certain  princely  pastimes  and 
recreations  were  rather  a  burden  to  him,  than  otherwise,  they 
were  so  fettered  by  restrictions  and  ceremonious  observances. 
However  he  had  a  private  hour  with  his  whipping-boy  which 
he  counted  clear  gain,  since  he  got  both  entertainment  and 
needful  information  out  of  it. 

The  third  day  of  Tom  Canty's  Kingship  came  and  went 
much  as  the  others  had  done,  but  there  was  a  lifting  of  his 
cloud  in  one  way — he  felt  less  uncomfortable  than  at  first; 
he  was  getting  a  little  used  to  his  circumstances  and  sur 
roundings;  his  chains  still  galled,  but  not  all  the  time;  he 
found  that  the  presence  and  homage  of  the  great  afflicted  and 

126 


TOM   AS   KING. 


127 


embarrassed  him  less  and  less  sharply  with  every  hour  that 
drifted  over  his  head. 

But  for  one  single  dread,  he  could  have  seen  the  fourth 
day  approach  without  serious  distress — the  dining  in  public; 
it  was  to  begin  that 
day.  There  were 
greater  matters  in 
the  programme — for 
on  that  day  he  would 
have  to  preside  at  a 
Council  which  would 
take  his  views  and 
commands  concern 
ing  the  policy  to  be 
pursued  toward  var 
ious  foreign  nations 
scattered  far  and 
near  over  the  great 
globe;  on  that  day, 
too,  Hertford  would 
be  formally  chosen 
to  the  grand  office 
of  Lord  Protector; 
other  things  of  note 
were  appointed  for 
that  foijrth  day,  also, 
but  to  Tom  they  were 
all  insignificant  com 
pared  with  the  ordeal 
of  dining  all  by  him 
self  with  a  multitude  of  curious  eyes  fastened  upon  him  and 
a  multitude  of  mouths  whispering  comments  upon  his  per 
formance, — and  upon  his  mistakes,  if  he  should  be  so  un 
lucky  as  to  make  any. 


TOM    HAD   WANDERED   TO   A   WINDOW." 


128  TOM   AS   KING. 

Still,  nothing  could  stop  that  fourth  day,  and  so  it  came. 
It  found  poor  Tom  low-spirited  and  absent-minded,  and  this 
mood  continued;  he  could  not  shake  it  off.  The  ordinary 
duties  of  the  morning  dragged  upon  his  hands,  and  wearied 
him.  Once  more  he  felt  the  sense  of  captivity  heavy  upon  him. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  he  was  in  a  large  audience  chamber, 
conversing  with  the  earl  of  Hertford  and  dully  awaiting  the 
striking  of  the  hour  appointed  for  a  visit  of  ceremony  from  a 
considerable  number  of  great  officials  and  courtiers. 

After  a  little  while,  Tom,  who  had  wandered  to  a  window 
and  become  interested  in  the  life  and  movement  of  the  great 
highway  beyond  the  palace  gates — and  not  idly  interested, 
but  longing  with  all  his  heart  to  take  part  in  person  in  its 
stir  and  freedom — saw  the  van  of  a  hooting  and  shouting  mob 
of  disorderly  men,  women  and  children  of  the  lowest  and 
poorest  degree  approaching  from  up  the  road. 

"  I  would  I  knew  what  'tis  about ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  all 
a  boy's  curiosity  in  such  happenings. 

"  Thou  art  the  king!"  solemnly  responded  the  earl,  with  a 
reverence.  "  Have  I  your  grace's  leave  to  act  ? " 

"O  blithely,  yes!  O  gladly  yes!"  exclaimed  Tom,  ex 
citedly,  adding  to  himself  with  a  lively  sense  of  satisfaction, 
"  In  truth,  being  a  king  is  not  all  dreariness — it  hath  its  com 
pensations  and  conveniences." 

The  earl  called  a  page,  and  sent  him  to  the  captain  of  the 
guard  with  the  order — 

"  Let  the  mob  be  halted,  and  inquiry  made  concerning  the 
occasion  of  its  movement.  By  the  king's  command!" 

A  few  seconds  later  a  long  rank  of  the  royal  guards,  cased 
in  flashing  steel,  filed  out  at  the  gates  and  formed  across  the 
highway  in  front  of  the  multitude.  A  messenger  returned, 
to  report  that  the  crowd  were  following  a  man,  a  woman,  and 
a  young  girl  to  execution  for  crimes  committed  against  the 
peace  and  dignity  of  the  realm. 


TOM  AS  KING.  1 29 

Death — and  a  violent  death — for  these  poor  unfortunates! 
The  thought  wrung  Tom's  heart-strings.  The  spirit  of  com 
passion  took  control  of  him,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  con 
siderations;  he  never  thought  of  the  offended  laws,  or  of  the 
grief  or  loss  which  these  three  criminals  had  inflicted  upon 
their  victims,  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  scaffold  and 
the  grisly  fate  hanging  over  the  heads  of  the  condemned. 
His  concern  made  him  even  forget,  for  the  moment,  that  he 
was  but  the  false  shadow  of  a  king,  not  the  substance;  and 
before  he  knew  it  he  had  blurted  out  the  command— 

"  Bring  them  here!  " 

Then  he  blushed  scarlet,  and  a  sort  of  apology  sprung  to 
his  lips;  but  observing  that  his  order  had  wrought  no  sort  of 
surprise  in  the  earl  or  the  waiting  page,  he  suppressed  the 
words  he  was  about  to  utter.  The  page,  in  the  most  matter, 
of-course  way,  made  a  profound  obeisance  and  retired  back 
wards  out  of  the  room  to  deliver  the  command.  Tom 
experienced  a  glow  of  pride  and  a  renewed  sense  of  the  com 
pensating  advantages  of  the  kingly  office.  He  said  to  him 
self,  "Truly  it  is  like  what  I  was  used  to  feel  when  I  read 
the  old  priest's  tales,  and  did  imagine  mine  own  self  a  prince, 
giving  law  and  command  to  all,  saying  <  Do  this,  do  that,' 
whilst  none  durst  offer  let  or  hindrance  to  my  will." 

Now  the  doors  swung  open;  one  high-sounding  title  after 
another  was  announced,  the  personages  owning  them  followed, 
and  the  place  was  quickly  half  filled  with  noble  folk  and 
finery.  But  Tom  was  hardly  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
these  people,  so  wrought  up  was  he  and  so  intensely  absorbed 
in  that  other  and  more  interesting  matter.  He  seated  him 
self,  absently,  in  his  chair  of  state,  and  turned  his  eyes  upon 
the  door  with  manifestations  of  impatient  expectancy;  seeing 
which,  the  company  forebore  to  trouble  him,  and  fell  to  chat 
ting  a  mixture  of  public  business  and  court  gossip  one  with 
another. 


130  TOM   AS   KING. 

In  a  little  while  the  measured  tread  of  military  men  was 
heard  approaching,  and  the  culprits  entered  the  presence  in 
charge  of  an  under-shertff  and  escorted  by  a  detail  of  the 
king's  guard.  The  civil  officer  knelt  before  Tom,  then  stood 
aside;  the  three  doomed  persons  knelt,  also,  and  remained 
so;  the  guard  took  position  behind  Tom's  chair.  Tom 
scanned  the  prisoners  curiously.  Something  about  the  dress 
or  appearance  of  the  man  had  stirred  a  vague  memory  in  him. 
"  Methinks  I  have  seen  this  man  ere  now  .  .  .  but  the  when 
or  the  where  fail  me  " — such  was  Tom's  thought.  Just  then 
the  man  glanced  quickly  up,  and  quickly  dropped  his  face 
again,  not  being  able  to  endure  the  awful  port  of  sovereignty; 
but  the  one  full  glimpse  of  the  face,  which  Tom  got,  was 
sufficient.  He  said  to  himself:  "Now  is  the  matter  clear; 
this  is  the  stranger  that  plucked  Giles  Witt  out  of  the  Thames, 
and  saved  his  life,  that  windy,  bitter,  first  day  of  the  New 
Year— a  brave  good  deed— pity  he  hath  been  doing  baser 
ones  and  got  himself  in  this  sad  case.  ...  I  have  not  forgot 
the  day,  neither  the  hour;  by  reason  that  an  hour  after,  upon 
the  stroke  of  eleven,  I  did  get  a  hiding  by  the  hand  of  Gam 
mer  Canty  which  was  of  so  goodly  and  admired  severity  that 
all  that  went  before  or  followed  after  it  were  but  fondlings 
and  caresses  by  comparison/' 

Tom  now  ordered  that  the  woman  and  the  girl  be  removed 
from  the  presence  for  a  little  time;  then  addressed  himself 
to  the  under-sheriff,  saying — 

"Good  sir,  what  is  this  man's  offence?" 

The  officer  knelt,  and  answered — 

"  So  please  your  majesty,  he  hath  taken  the  life  of  a  sub 
ject  by  poison." 

Tom's  compassion  for  the  prisoner,  and  admiration  of  him 
as  the  daring  rescuer  of  a  drowning  boy,  experienced  a  most 
damaging  shock. 

"  The  thing  was  proven  upon  him  ? "  he  asked. 


TOM   AS   KING.  13! 

"  Most  clearly,  sire." 

Tom  sighed,  and  said — 

"  Take  him  away — he  hath  earned  his  death.  'Tis  a  pity, 
for  he  was  a  brave  heart — na — na,  I  mean  he  hath  the  look 
of  it  ! " 

The  prisoner  clasped  his  hands  together  with  sudden  en 
ergy,  and  wrung  them  despairingly,  at  the  same  time  appeal 
ing  imploringly  to  the  "King"  in  broken  and  terrified 
phrases — 

"  O  my  lord  the  king,  an'  thou  canst  pity  the  lost,  have 
pity  upon  me  !  I  am  innocent — neither  hath  that  wherewith 
I  am  charged  been  more  than  but  lamely  proved — yet  I  speak 
not  of  that;  the  judgment  is  gone  forth  against  me  and  may 
not  suffer  alteration;  yet  in  mine  extremity  I  beg  a  boon,  for 
my  doom  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  A  grace,  a  grace,  my  lord 
the  king  !  in  thy  royal  compassion  grant  my  prayer — give 
commandment  that  I  be  hanged  ! " 

Tom  was  amazed.  This  was  not  the  outcome  he  had 
looked  for. 

"Odds  my  life,  a  strange  boon!  Was  it  not  the  fate  in 
tended  thee  ? " 

"  O  good  my  liege,  not  so  !  It  is  ordered  that  I  be  boiled 
alive  !  " 

The  hideous  surprise  of  these  words  almost  made  Tom 
spring  from  his  chair.  As  soon  as  he  could  recover  his  wits 
he  cried  out — 

"  Have  thy  wish,  poor  soul  !  an'  thou  had  poisoned  a  hun 
dred  men  thou  shouldst  not  suffer  so  miserable  a  death." 

The  prisoner  bowed  his  face  to  the  ground  and  burst  into 
passionate  expressions  of  gratitude — ending  with — 

"  If  ever  thou  shouldst  know  misfortune — which  God  for- 
fend  ! — may  thy  goodness  to  me  this  day  be  remembered 
and  requited  !  " 

Tom  turned  to  the  earl  of  Hertford,  and  said — 


132  TOM  AS  KING. 

"  My  lord,  is  it  believable  that  there  was  warrant  for  this 
man's  ferocious  doom  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  law,  your  grace — for  poisoners.  In  Germany 
coiners  be  boiled  to  death  in  oil — not  cast  in  of  a  sudden, 
but  by  a  rope  let  down  into  the  oil  by  degrees,  and  slowly; 
first  the  feet,  then  the  legs,  then  " — 

"O  prithee  no  more,  my  lord,  I  cannot  bear  it  !"  cried 
Tom,  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands  to  shut  out  the  picture. 
"  I  beseech  your  good  lordship  that  order  be  taken  to 
change  this  law — O,  let  no  more  poor  creatures  be  visited 
with  its  tortures." 

The  earl's  .face  showed  profound  gratification,  for  he  was 
a  man  of  merciful  and  generous  impulses — a  thing  not  very 
common  with  his  class  in  that  fierce  age.  He  said — 

"  These  your  grace's  noble  words  have  sealed  its  doom. 
History  will  remember  it  to  the  honor  of  your  royal  house." 

The  under-sheriff  was  about  to  remove  his  prisoner;  Tom 
gave  him  a  sign  to  wait;  then  he  said — 

"  Good  sir,  I  would  look  into  this  matter  further.  The 
man  has  said  his  deed  was  but  lamely  proved.  Tell  me  what 
thou  knowest." 

"  If  the  king's  grace  please,  it  did  appear  upon  the  trial, 
that  this  man  entered  into  a  house  in  the  hamlet  of  Isling 
ton  where  one  lay  sick — three  witnesses  say  it  was  at  ten  of  the 
clock  in  the  morning  and  two  say  it  was  some  minutes  later — 
the  sick  man  being  alone  at  the  time,  and  sleeping — and 
presently  the  man  came  forth  again,  and  went  his  way.  The 
sick  man  died  within  the  hour,  being  torn  with  spasms  and 
retchings." 

"  Did  any  see  the  poison  given  ?     Was  poison  found  ?  " 

"Marry,  no,  my  liege." 

"  Then  how  doth  one  know  there  was  poison  given  at  all  ? " 

"Please  your  majesty,  the  doctors  testified  that  none  die 
with  such  symptoms  but  by  poison." 


TOM  AS  KING.  133 

Weighty  evidence,  this — in  that  simple  age.  Tom  recog 
nized  its  formidable  nature,  and  said— 

"  The  doctor  knoweth  his  trade— belike  they  were  right. 
The  matter  hath  an  ill  look  for  this  poor  man." 

"Yet  was  not  this  all,  your  majesty;  there  is  more  and 
worse.  Many  testified  that  a  witch,  since  gone  from  the  vil 
lage,  none  know  whither,  did  foretell,  and  speak  it  privately 
in  their  ears,  that  the  sick  man  would  die  by  poison — and 
more,  that  a  stranger  would  give  it — a  stranger  with  brown 
hair  and  clothed  in  a  worn  and  common  garb;  and  surely 
this  prisoner  doth  answer  woundily  to  the  bill.  •  Please  your 
majesty  to  give  the  circumstance  that  solemn  weight  which  is 
its  due,  seeing  it  VJQ&  foretold" 

This  was  an  argument  of  tremendous  force,  in  that  super 
stitious  day.  Tom  felt  that  the  thing  was  settled;  if  evidence 
was  worth  anything,  this  poor  fellow's  guilt  was  proved. 
Still  he  offered  the  prisoner  a  chance,  saying — 

"  If  thou  canst  say  aught  in  thy  behalf,  speak." 

"  Nought  that  will  avail,  my  king.  I  am  innocent,  yet 
cannot  I  make  it  appear.  I  have  no  friends,  else  might  I 
show  that  I  was  not  in  Islington  that  day  ;  so  also  might  I 
show  that  at  that  hour  they  name  I  was  above  a  league  away, 
seeing  I  was  at  Wapping  Old  Stairs;  yea  more,  my  King,  for 
I  could  show,  that  whilst  they  say  I  was  taking  life,  I  was 
saving  it.  A  drowning  boy  " — 

"  Peace  !     Sheriff,  name  the  day  the  deed  was  done  !  " 

"  At  ten  in  the  morning,  or  some  minutes  later,  the  first 
day  of  the  new  year,  most  illustrious  "- 

"  Let  the  prisoner  go  free — it  is  the  king's  will!" 

Another  blush  followed  this  unregal  outburst,  and  he 
covered  his  indecorum  as  well  as  he  could  by  adding — 

"  It  enrageth  me  that  a  man  should  be  hanged  upon  such 
idle,  hare-brained  evidence!  " 

A  low  buzz  of  admiration  swept  through  the  assemblage. 


134 


TOM   AS    KING. 


It  was  not  admiration  of  the  decree  that  had  been  delivered 
by  Tom,  for  the  propriety  or  expediency  of  pardoning  a  con 
victed  poisoner  was  a  thing  which  few  there  would  have  felt 
justified  in  either  admitting  or  admiring — no,  the  admiration 
was  for  the  intelligence  and  spirit  which  Tom  had  displayed. 
Some  of  the  low-voiced  remarks  were  to  this  effect — 
"This  is  no  mad  king — he  hath  his  wits  sound." 

"  How  sanely  he  put 
his  questions  —  how 
like  his  former  natural 
self  was  this  abrupt,im- 
perious  disposal  of  the 
matter!  " 

"  God  be  thanked 
his  infirmity  is  spent! 
This  is  no  weakling, 
but  a  king.  He  hath 
borne  himself  like  to 
his  own  father." 

The  air  being  filled 
with  applause,  Tom's 

ear  necessarily  caught  a  little  of  it.  The  effect  which  this 
had  upon  him  was  to  put  him  greatly  at  his  ease,  and  also  to 
charge  his  system  with  very  gratifying  sensations. 

However,  his  juvenile  curiosity  soon  rose  superior  to  these 
pleasant  thoughts  and  feelings;  he  was  eager  to  know  what 
sort  of  deadly  mischief  the  woman  and  the  little  girl  could 
have  been  about;  so,  by  his  command  the  two  terrified  and 
sobbing  creatures  were  brought  before  him. 

"What  is  it  that  these  have  done  ?"  he  inquired  of  the  sheriff. 
u  Please  your  majesty,  a  black  crime  is  charged  upon  them, 
and  clearly  proven;  wherefore  the  judges  have  decreed,  ac 
cording  to  the  law,  that  they  be  hanged.     They  sold  them 
selves  to  the  devil — such  is  their  crime." 


WHAT   IS   IT   THAT   THESE    HAVE   DONE?' 


TOM   AS   KING.  135 

Tom  shuddered.  He  had  been  taught  to  abhor  people  who 
did  this  wicked  thing.  Still,  he  was  not  going  to  deny  him 
self  the  pleasure  of  feeding  his  curiosity,  for  all  that;  so  he 
asked — 

"  Where  was  this  done  ? — and  when  ?  " 

"On  a  midnight,  in  December — in  a  ruined  church,  your 
majesty." 

Tom  shuddered  again. 

"  Who  was  there  present?" 

"  Only  these  two,  your  grace — and  that  other." 

"  Have  these  confessed  ?  " 

"  Nay,  not  so,  sire — they  do  deny  it." 

"  Then  prithee,  how  was  it  known  ? " 

"  Certain  witnesses  did  see  them  wending  thither,  good 
your  majesty;  this  bred  the  suspicion,  and  dire  effects  have 
since  confirmed  and  justified  it.  In  particular,  it  is  in  evi 
dence  that  through  the  wicked  power  so  obtained,  they  did 
invoke  and  bring  about  a  storm  that  wasted  all  the  region 
round  about.  Above  forty  witnesses  have  proved  the  storm; 
and  sooth  one  might  have  had  a  thousand,  for  all  had  reason 
to  remember  it,  sith  all  had  suffered  by  it." 

"  Certes  this  is  a  serious  matter."  Tom  turned  this  dark 
piece  of  scoundrelism  over  in  his  mind  a  while,  then  asked — 

"  Suffered  the  woman,  also,  by  the  storm  ? " 

Several  old  heads  among  the  assemblage  nodded  their 
recognition  of  the  wisdom  of  this  question.  The  sheriff, 
however,  saw  nothing  consequential  in  the  inquiry;  he  answer 
ed,  with  simple  directness — 

"  Indeed,  did  she,  your  majesty,  and  most  righteously,  as 
all  aver.  Her  habitation  was  swept  away,  and  herself  and 
child  left  shelterless." 

"  Methinks  the  power  to  do  herself  so  ill  a  turn  was  dearly 
bought.  She  had  been  cheated,  had  she  paid  but  a  farthing 
for  it;  that  she  paid  her  soul,  and  her  child's,  argueth  that 


IS  TOM   AS   KING. 

she  is  mad;  if  she  is  mad  she  knoweth  not  what  she  doth, 
therefore  sinneth  not." 

The  elderly  heads  nodded  recognition  of  Tom's  wisdom 
once  more,  and  one  individual  murmured,  "  An'  the  king  be 
mad  himself,  according  to  report,  then  is  it  a  madness  of  a 
sort  that  would  improve  the  sanity  of  some  I  wot  of,  if  by  the 
gentle  providence  of  God  they  could  but  catch  it." 

"  What  age  hath  the  child  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Nine  years,  please  your  majesty." 

"By  the  law  of  England  may  a  child  enter  into  covenant 
and  sell  itself,  my  lord  ?"  asked  Tom,  turning  to  a  learned 
judge. 

"  The  law  doth  not  permit  a  child  to  make  or  meddle  in 
any  weighty  matter,  good  my  liege,  holding  that  its  callow 
wit  unfitteth  it  to  cope  with  the  riper  wit  and  evil  schemings 
of  them  that  are  its  elders.  The  devil  may  buy  a  child,  if  he 
so  choose,  and  the  child  agree  thereto,  but  not  an  English 
man — in  this  latter  case  the  contract  would  be  null  and  void." 

"  It  seemeth  a  rude  unchristian  thing,  and  ill  contrived, 
that  English  law  denieth  privileges  to  Englishmen,  to  waste 
them  on  the  devil!  "  cried  Tom,  with  honest  heat. 

This  novel  view  of  the  matter  excited  many  smiles,  and  was 
stored  away  in  many  heads  to  be  repeated  about  the  court  as 
evidence  of  Tom's  originality  as  well  as  progress  toward  men 
tal  health. 

The  elder  culprit  had  ceased  from  sobbing,  and  was  hang 
ing  upon  Tom's  words  with  an  excited  interest  and  a  growing- 
hope.  Tom  noticed  this,  and  it  strongly  inclined  his  sym 
pathies  toward  her  in  her  perilous  and  unfriended  situation. 
Presently  he  asked— 

"  How  wrought  they,  to  bring  the  storm  ? " 

"  By  pulling  off  their  stockings,  sire." 

This  astonished  Tom,  and  also  fired  his  curiosity  to  fever 
heat.  He  said,  eagerly — 


TOM   AS   KING.  137 

"  It  is  wonderful  !     Hath  it  always  this  dread  effect  ?  " 

"  Always,  my  liege — at  least  if  the  woman  desire  it,  and 
utter  the  needful  words,  either  in  her  mind  or  with  her 
tongue." 

Tom  turned  to  the  woman,  and  said  with  impetuous  zeal— 

"  Exert  thy  power — I  would  see  a  storm  !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  paling  of  cheeks  in  the  superstitious 
assemblage,  and  a  general,  though  unexpressed,  desire  to  get 
out  of  the  place — all  of  which  was  lost  upon  Tom,  who  was 
dead  to  everything  but  the  proposed  cataclysm.  Seeing  a 
puzzled  and  astonished  look  in  the  woman's  face,  he  added, 
excitedly — 

"  Never  fear — thou  shalt  be  blameless.  More — thou  shalt 
go  free — none  shall  touch  thee.  Exert  thy  power." 

"  O,  my  lord  the  king,  I  have  it  not — I  have  been  falsely 
accused." 

"Thy  fears  stay  thee.  Be  of  good  heart,  thou  shalt  suffer 
no  harm.  Make  a  storm — it  mattereth  not  how  small  a  one 
—I  require  nought  great  or  harmful,  but  indeed  prefer  the 
opposite — do  this  and  thy  life  is  spared — thou  shalt  go  out 
free,  with  thy  child,  bearing  the  king's  pardon,  and  safe  from 
hurt  or  malice  from  any  in  the  realm." 

The  woman  prostrated  herself,  and  protested,  with  tears, 
that  she  had  no  power  to  do  the  miracle,  else  she  would 
gladly  win  her  child's  life,  alone,  and  be  content  to  lose  her 
own,  if  by  obedience  to  the  king's  command  so  precious  a 
grace  might  be  acquired. 

Tom  urged — the  woman  still  adhered  to  her  declarations. 
Finally  he  said — 

"  I  think  the  woman  hath  said  true.  An'  my  mother  were 
in  her  place  and  gifted  with  the  devil's  functions,  she  had  not 
stayed  a  moment  to  call  her  storms  and  lay  the  whole  land  in 
ruins,  if  the  saving  of  my  forfeit  life  were  the  price  she  got! 
It  is  argument  that  other  mothers  are  made  in  like  mould. 


138  TOM   AS   KING. 

Thou  art  free,  good  wife — thou  and  thy  child — for  I  do  think 
thee  innocent.  Now  thou'st  nought  to  fear,  being  pardoned 
—pull  off  thy  stockings! — an'  thou  canst  make  me  a  storm, 
thou  shalt  be  rich!  " 

The  redeemed  creature  was  loud  in  her  gratitude,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  obey,  whilst  Tom  looked  on  with  eager  expectancy, 
a  little  marred  by  apprehension;  the  courtiers  at  the  same 
time  manifesting  decided  discomfort  and  uneasiness.  The 
woman  stripped  her  own  feet  and  her  little  girl's  also,  and 
plainly  did  her  best  to  reward  the  king's  generosity  with  an 
earthquake,  but  it  was  all  a  failure  and  a  disappointment. 
Tom  sighed,  and  said — 

"There,  good  soul,  trouble  thyself  no  further,  thy  power  is 
departed  out  of  thee.  Go  thy  way  in  peace;  and  if  it  return 
to  thee  at  any  time,  forget  me  not,  but  fetch  me  a  storm."  * 

*  See  Notes  to  Chapter  xv  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    STATE    DINNER. 

THE  dinner  hour  drew  near — yet  strangely  enough,  the 
thought  brought  but  slight  discomfort  to  Tom,  and  hardly 
any  terror.  The  morning's  experiences  had  wonderfully 
built  up  his  confidence;  the  poor  little  ash-cat  was  already 
more  wonted  to  his  strange  garret,  after  four  days'  habit,  than 
a  mature  person  could  have  become  in  a  full  month.  A 
child's  facility  in  accommodating  itself  to  circumstances  was 
never  more  strikingly  illustrated. 

Let  us  privileged  ones  hurry  to  the  great  banqueting  room 
and  have  a  glance  at  matters  there  whilst  Tom  is  being  made 
ready  for  the  imposing  occasion.  It  is  a  spacious  apartment, 
with  gilded  pillars  and  pilasters,  and  pictured  walls  and  ceil 
ings.  At  the  door  stand  tall  guards,  as  rigid  as  statues, 
dressed  in  rich  and  picturesque  costumes,  and  bearing  hal 
berds.  In  a  high  gallery  which  runs  all  around  the  place  is  a 
band  of  musicians  and  a  packed  company  of  citizens  of  both 
sexes,  in  brilliant  attire.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  upon  a 
raised  platform,  is  Tom's  table.  Now  let  the  ancient  chron 
icler  speak: 

"  A  gentleman  enters  the  room  bearing  a  rod,  and  along 
with  him  another  bearing  a  table-cloth,  which,  after  they  have 
both  kneeled  three  times  with  the  utmost  veneration,  he 
spreads  upon  the  table,  and  after  kneeling  again  they  both 
retire;  then  come  two  others,  one  with  the  rod  again,  the 
other  with  a  salt-cellar,  a  plate,  and  bread;  when  they  have 
kneeled  as  the  others  had  done,  and  placed  what  was  brought 

139 


140 


THE   STATE   DINNER. 


upon  the  table,  they  too  retire  with  the  same  ceremonies  per 
formed  by  the  first;  at  last  come  two  nobles,  richly  clothed, 
one  bearing  a  tasting-knife,  who,  after  prostrating  themselves 
in  the  most  graceful  manner,  approach  and  rub  the  table  with 
bread  and  salt,  with  as  much  awe  as  if  the  king  had  been 
present."  * 


A   GENTLEMAN   BEARING  A   ROD." 


So  end  the  solemn  preliminaries.  Now,  far  down  the  echo 
ing  corridors  we  hear  a  bugle-blast,  and  the  indistinct  cry, 
"  Place  for  the  king!  way  for  the  king's  most  excellent 

*  Leigh  Hunt's  "  The  Town,"  p.  408,  quotation  from  an  early  tourist. 


THE   STATE   DINNER. 


141 


majesty!"  These  sounds  are  momently  repeated  —  they 
grow  nearer  and  nearer — and  presently,  almost  in  our  faces, 
the  martial  note  peals  and  the  cry  rings  out,  "Way  foe  the 
king!  "  At  this  instant  the  shining  pageant  appears,  and  files 
in  at  the  door,  with  a  measured  march.  Let  the  chronicler 
speak  again : 

"  First  come  Gentlemen,  Barons,  Earls,  Knights  of  the 
Garter,  all  richly  dressed  and  bareheaded;  next  comes  the 
Chancellor,  between  two,  one  of  which  carries  the  royal 
sceptre,  the  other  the  Sword  of  State  in  a  red  scabbard,  stud 
ded  with  golden  fleurs-de-lis,  the  point  upwards;  next  comes 
the  King  himself— 
whom,  upon  his  ap 
pearing,  twelve  trum 
pets  and  many  drums 
salute  with  a  great 
burst  of  welcome, 
whilst  all  in  the  gal 
leries  rise  in  their 


places,  crying  "  God 
save  the  King  !  " 
After  him  come 
nobles  attached  to 
his  person,  and  on 
his  right  and  left 
march  his  guard  of 
honor,  his  fifty  Gen 
tlemen  Pensioners, 
with  gilt  battle-axes." 

This  was  all  fine  and  pleasant.  Tom's  pulse  beat  high 
and  a  glad  light  was  in  his  eye.  He  bore  himself  right 
gracefully,  and  all  the  more  so  because  he  was  not  thinking 
of  how  he  was  doing  it,  his  mind  being  charmed  and  occupied 
with  the  blithe  sights  and  sounds  about  him — and  besides, 


I   THANK    YE,  MY    GOOD    PEOPLE." 


142  .  THE   STATE   DINNER. 

nobody  can  be  very  ungraceful  in  nicely-fitting  beautiful 
clothes  after  he  has  grown  a  little  used  to  them — especially 
if  he  is  for  the  moment  unconscious  of  them.  Tom  remem 
bered  his  instructions,  and  acknowledged  his  greeting  with  a 
slight  inclination  of  his  plumed  head,  and  a  courteous  ''I 
thank  ye,  my  good  people." 

He  seated  himself  at  table,  without  removing  his  cap;  and 
did  it  without  the  least  embarrassment;  for  to  eat  with  one's 
cap  on  was  the  one  solitary  royal  custom  upon  which  the 
kings  and  the  Cantys  met  upon  common  ground,  neither 
party  having  any  advantage  over  the  other  in  the  matter  of 
old  familiarity  with  it.  The  pageant  broke  up  rind  grouped 
itself  picturesquely,  and  remained  bareheaded. 

Now,  to  the  sound  of  gay  music,  the  Yeomen  of  the  Guard 
entered, — "  the  tallest  and  mightiest  men  in  England,  they 
being  selected  in  this  regard  " — but  we  will  let  the  chronicler 
tell  about  it: 

"  The  Yeomen  of  the  Guard  entered,  bareheaded,  clothed 
in  scarlet,  with  golden  roses  upon  their  backs;  and  these 
went  and  came,  bringing  in  each  turn  a  course  of  dishes, 
served  in  plate.  These  dishes  were  received  by  a  gentleman 
in  the  same  order  they  were  brought,  and  placed  upon  the 
table,  while  the  taster  gave  to  each  guard  a  mouthful  to  eat 
of  the  particular  dish  he  had  brought,  for  fear  of  any  poison." 

Tom  made  a  good  dinner,  notwithstanding  he  was  con 
scious  that  hundreds  of  eyes  followed  each  morsel  to  his 
mouth  and  watched  him  eat  it  with  an  interest  which  could 
not  have  been  more  intense  if  it  had  been  a  deadly  explosive 
and  was  expected  to  blow  him  up  and  scatter  him  all  over  the 
place.  He  was  careful  not  to  hurry,  and  equally  careful  not 
to  do  any  thing  whatever  for  himself,  but  wait  till  the  proper 
official  knelt  down  and  did  it  for  him.  He  got  through  with 
out  a  mistake — flawless  and  precious  triumph. 

When  the  meal  was  over  at  last  and  he  marched  away  in 


THE    STATE    DINNER.  143 

the  midst  of  his  bright  pageant,  with  the  happy  noises  in  his 
ears  of  blaring  bugles,  rolling  drums  and  thundering  ac 
clamations,  he  felt  that  if  he  had  seen  the  worst  of  dining  in 
public,  it  was  an  ordeal  which  he  would  be  glad  to  endure 
several  times  a  day  if  by  that  means  he  could  but  buy  him 
self  free  from  some  of  the  more  formidable  requirements  of 
his  royal  office. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FOO-FOO    THE    FIRST. 

MILES  HENDON  hurried  along  toward  the  Southwark  end  of 
the  bridge,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  persons  he  sought, 
and  hoping  and  expecting  to  overtake  them  presently.     He 
was  disappointed  in  this,  however.     By  asking  questions,  he 
was  enabled  to  track  them  part  of  the  way  through  South 
wark;  then  all  traces  ceased,  and  he  was  perplexed  as  to  how 
to  proceed.     Still,  he  continued   his  efforts  as  best  he  could 
during  the  rest  of  the  day.     Nightfall  found  him  leg-weary, 
half  famished,  and  his  desire  as  far  from  accomplishment  as 
ever;    so  he  supped  at  the  Tabard  inn  and  went  to  bed,  re 
solved  to  make  an  early   start  in  the   morning,  and  give  the 
town  an  exhaustive   search.     As  he   lay  thinking  and  plan 
ning,  he  presently  began  to   reason  thus:     The  boy   would 
escape    from   the   ruffian,    his   reputed    father,    if   possible; 
would  he  go  back  to  London  and  seek  his  former  haunts  ? 
no,  he  would  not  do  that,  he  would  avoid  recapture.     What, 
then,  would  he  do  ?     Never  having  had  a  friend  in  the  world, 
or  a  protector,  until  he  met  Miles  Hendon,  he  would  natural 
ly  try  to  find  that  friend  again,  provided  the  effort  did  not 
require  him  to  go  toward   London  and  danger.     He  would 
strike   for   Hendon    Hall,  that  is  what   he  would   do,  for  he 
knew  Hendon  was  homeward  bound  and  there  he  might  ex 
pect  to  find   him.     Yes,  the   case  was  plain   to  Hendon — he 
must    lose  no  more    time  in  Southwark,  but  move  at  once 
through  Kent,  toward  Monk's  Holm,  searching  the  wood  and 

144 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST.  H5 

inquiring  as  he  went.  Let  us  return  to  the  vanished  little 
king,  now. 

The  ruffian  whom  the  waiter  at  the  inn  on  the  bridge  saw 
"about  to  join"  the  youth  and  the  king,  did  not  exactly  join 
them,  but  fell  in  close  behind  them  and  followed  their  steps. 
He  said  nothing.  His  left  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  he  wore 
a  large  green  patch  over  his  left  eye;  he  limped  slightly,  and 
used  an  oaken  staff  as  a  support.  The  youth  led  the  king  a 
crooked  course  through  Southwark,  and  by  and  by  struck 
into  the  high  road  beyond.  The  king  was  irritated,  now,  and 
said  he  would  stop  here — it  was  Hendon's  place  to  come  to 
him,  not  his  to  go  to  Hendon.  He  would  not  endure  such 
insolence;  he  would  stop  where  he  was.  The  youth  said — 

"  Thou'lt  tarry  here,  and  thy  friend  lying  wounded  in  the 
wood  yonder?  So  be  it,  then." 

The  king's  manner  changed  at  once.     He  cried  out — 

"  Wounded  ?  And  who  hath  dared  to  do  it  ?  But  that  is 
apart;  lead  on,  lead  on  !  Faster,  sirrah  !  art  shod  with  lead  ? 
Wounded,  is  he?  Now  though  the  doer  of  it  be  a  duke's 
son,  he  shall  rue  it !  " 

It  was  #ome  distance  to  the  wood,  but  the  space  was  speed 
ily  traversed.  The  youth  looked  about  him,  discovered  a 
bough  sticking  in  the  ground,  with  a  small  bit  of  rag  tied  to 
it,  then  led  the  way  into  the  forest,  watching  for  similar 
boughs  and  finding  them  at  intervals:  they  were  evidently 
guides  to  the  point  he  was  aiming  at.  By  and  by  an  open 
place  was  reached,  where  were  the  charred  remains  of  a  farm 
house,  and  near  them  a  barn  which  was  falling  to  ruin  and 
decay.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  anywhere,  and  utter  silence 
prevailed.  The  youth  entered  the  barn,  the  king  following 
eagerly  upon  his  heels.  No  one  there  !  The  king  shot  a 
surprised  and  suspicious  glance  at  the  youth,  and  asked — 

"Where  is  he?" 

A  mocking  laugh  was  his  answer.     The  king  was  in  a  rage 


146 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 


in  a  moment;  he  seized  a  billet  of  wood  and  was  in  the  act 
of  charging  upon  the  youth  when  another  mocking  laugh 
fell  upon  his  ear.  It  was  from  the  lame  ruffian,  who  had 


HE   SEIZED   A    BILLET   OF    WOOD. 


been  following  at  a  distance.     The  king  turned  and  said  an 
grily— 

;<  Who  art  thou  ?     What  is  thy  business  here  ? " 

11  Leave  thy  foolery,"  said   the   man,   «  and   quiet  thyself. 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST.  147 

My  disguise  is  none  so  good  that  thou  canst  pretend  thou 
knowest  not  thy  father  through  it." 

"  Thou  art  not  my  father.  I  know  thee  not.  I  am  the 
king.  If  thou  hast  hid  my  servant,  find  him  for  me,  or  thou 
shalt  sup  sorrow  for  what  thou  hast  d/sne." 

John  Canty  replied,  in  a  stern  and  measured  voice — 

"  It  is  plain  thou  art  mad,  and  I  am  loth  to-  punish  thee; 
but  if  thou  provoke  me,  I  must.  Thy  prating  doth  no  harm 
here,  where  there  are  no  ears  that  need  to  mind  thy  follies, 
yet  is  it  well  to  practice  thy  tongue  to  wary  speech,  that  it 
may  do  no  hurt  when  our  quarters  change.  I  have  done  a 
murder,  and  may  not  tarry  at  home — neither  shalt  thou,  see 
ing  I  need  thy  service.  My  name  is  changed,  for  wise  rea 
sons;  it  is  Hobbs — John  Hobbs;  thine  is  Jack — charge  thy 
memory  accordingly.  Now,  then,  speak.  Where  is  thy 
mother  ?  where  are  thy  sisters  ?  They  came  not  to  the  place 
appointed — knowest  thou  whither  they  went  ?  " 

The  king  answered,  sullenly — 

"  Trouble  me  not  with  these  riddles.  My  mother  is  dead; 
my  sisters  are  in  the  palace." 

The  youth  near  by  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh,  and  the 
king  would  have  assaulted  him,  but  Canty — or  Hobbs,  as  he 
now  called  himself — prevented  him,  and  said — 

"  Peace,  Hugo,  vex  him  not;  his  mind  is  astray,  and  thy 
ways  fret  him.  Sit  thee  down,  Jack,  and  quiet  thyself;  thou 
shalt  have  a  morsel  to  eat,  anon." 

Hobbs  and  Hugo  fell  to  talking  together,  in  low  voices, 
and  the  king  removed  himself  as  far  as  he  could  from  their 
disagreeable  company.  He  withdrew  into  the  twilight  of 
the  farther  end  of  the  barn,  where  he  found  the  earthen  floor 
bedded  a  foot  deep  with  straw.  He  lay  down  here,  drew  straw 
over  himself  in  lieu  of  blankets,  and  was  soon  absorbed  in  think 
ing.  He  had  many  griefs,  but  the  minor  ones  were  swept  al 
most  into  forgetfulness  by  the  supreme  one,  the  loss  of  his  fa- 


148 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 


ther.  To  the  rest  of  the  world  the  name  of  Henry  VIII.  brought 
a  shiver,  and  suggested  an  ogre  whose  nostrils  breathed  de 
struction  and  whose  hand  dealt  scourgings  and  death;  but  to 
this  boy  the  name  brought  only  sensations  of  pleasure,  the 
figure  it  invoked  wore  a  countenance  that  was  all  gentleness 
and  affection.  He  called  to  mind  a  long  succession  of  lov 
ing  passages  between  his  father  and  himself,  and  dwelt  fondly 
upon  them,  his  unstinted  tears  attesting  how  deep  and  real 
was  the  grief  that  possessed  his  heart.  As  the  afternoon 


"HE  WAS  SOON  ABSORBED  IN  THINKING." 

wasted  away,  the  lad,  wearied  with  his  troubles,  sunk  gradu 
ally  into  a  tranquil  and  healing  slumber. 

After  a  considerable  time — he  could  not  tell  how  long — his 
senses  struggled  to  a  half-consciousness,  and  as  he  lay  with 
closed  eyes  vaguely  wondering  where  he  was  and  what  had 
been  happening,  he  noted  a  murmurous  sound,  the  sullen 
beating  of  rain  upon  the  roof.  A  snug  sense  of  comfort  stole 
over  him,  which  was  rudely  broken,  the  next  moment,  by  a 
chorus  of  piping  cackles  and  coarse  laughter.  It  startled 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST.  149 

him  disagreeably,  and  he  unmuffled  his  head  to  see  whence 
this  interruption  proceeded.  A  grim  and  unsightly  picture 
met  his  eye.  A  bright  fire  was  burning  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  at  the  other  end  of  the  barn;  and  around  it,  and  lit 
weirdly  up  by  the  red  glare,  lolled  and  sprawled  the  motliest 
company  of  tattered  gutter-scum  and  ruffians,  of  both  sexes, 
he  had  ever  read  or  dreamed  of.  There  were  huge,  stalwart 
men,  brown  with  exposure,  long-haired,  and  clothed  in  fan 
tastic  rags;  there  were  middle-sized  youths,  of  truculent 
countenance,  and  similarly  clad;  there  were  blind  mendicants, 
with  patched  or  bandaged  eyes;  crippled  ones,  with  wooden 
legs  and  crutches;  there  was  a  villain-looking  peddler  with 
his  pack;  a  knife-grinder,  a  tinker,  and  a  barber-surgeon, 
with  the  implements  of  their  trades;  some  of  the  females  were 
hardly-grown  girls,  some  were  at  prime,  some  were  old  and 
wrinkled  hags,  and  all  were  loud,  brazen,  foul-mouthed;  and 
all  soiled  and  slatternly;  there  were  three'  sore-faced  babies; 
there  were  a  couple  of  starveling  curs,  with  strings  about 
their  necks,  whose  office  was  to  lead  the  blind. 

The  night  was  come,  the  gang  had  just  finished  feasting, 
an  orgy  was  beginning,  the  can  of  liquor  was  passing  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  A  general  cry  broke  forth— 

"  A  song  !  a  song  from  the  Bat  and  Dick  Dot-and-go- 
One  !  " 

One  of  the  blind  men  got  up,  and  made  ready  by  casting 
aside  the  patches  that  sheltered  his  excellent  eyes,  and  the 
pathetic  placard  which  recited  the  cause  of  his  calamity. 
Dot-and-go-One  disencumbered  himself  of  his  timber  leg 
and  took  his  place,  upon  sound  and  healthy  limbs,  beside  his 
fellow- rascal;  then  they  roared  out  a  rollicking  ditty,  and 
were  re-enforced  by  the  whole  crew,  at  the  end  of  each  stanza, 
in  a  rousing  chorus.  By  the  time  the  last  stanza  was  reached, 
the  half-drunken  enthusiasm  had  risen  to  such  a  pitch,  that 
everybody  joined  in  and  sang  it  clear  through  from  the  be- 


I5O  FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 

ginning,  producing  a  volume  of  villainous  sound   that  made 
the  rafters  quake.     These  were  the  inspiring  words: 

"  Bien  Darkmans  then,  Bouse  Mort  and  Ken, 
The  bien  Coves  bings  avvast, 
On  Chates  to  trine  by  Rome  Coves  dine 
For  his  long  lib  at  last. 

Bing'd  out  bien  Morts  and  toure,  and  toure, 
Bingout  of  the  Rome  vile  bine, 
And  toure  the  Cove  that  cloy'd  your  duds, 
Upon  the  Chates  to  trine."* 

Conversation  followed;  not  in  the  thieves'  dialect  of  the 
song,  for  that  was  only  used  in  talk  when  unfriendly  ears 
might  be  listening.  In  the  course  of  it  it  appeared  that 
"  John  Hobbs  "  was  not  altogether  a  new  recruit,  but  had 
trained  in  the  gang  at  some  former  time.  His  later  history 
was  called  for,  and  when  he  said  he  had  "  accidentally  " 
killed  a  man,  considerable  satisfaction  was  expressed;  when 
he  added  that  the  man  was  a  priest,  he  was  roundly  applaud 
ed,  and  had  to  take  a  drink  with  everybody.  Old  acquaint 
ances  welcomed  him  joyously,  and  new  ones  were  proud  to 
shake  him  by  the  hand.  He  was  asked  why  he  had  "  tarried 
away  so  many  months."  He  answered — 

"  London  is  better  than  the  country,  and  safer  these  late 
years,  the  laws  be  so  bitter  and  so  diligently  enforced.  An' 
I  had  not  had  that  accident,  I  had  staid  there.  I  had  resolved 
to  stay,  and  never  more  venture  country-wards — but  the  ac 
cident  has  ended  that." 

He  inquired  how  many  persons  the  gang  numbered  now. 
The  "  Ruffler,"  or  chief,  answered — 

"  Five  and  twenty  sturdy  budges,  bulks,  files,  clapperdo- 
geons  and  maunders,  counting  the  dells  and  doxies  and  other 

*From  "  The  English  Rogue;"  London,  1665. 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 


morts.*     Most  are  here,  the  rest  are  wandering  eastward, 
along  the  winter  lay.     We  follow  at  dawn." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  Wen  among  the  honest  folk  about  me. 
Where  may  he  be?" 

"  Poor  lad,  his  diet  is 
brimstone,  now,  and 
over  hot  for  a  delicate 
taste.  He  was  killed 
in  a  brawl,  somewhere 
about  midsummer." 

"I  sorrow  to  hear  that  ; 
the  Wen  was  a  capable 
man,  and  brave." 

"  That  was  he,  truly. 
Black  Bess,  his  dell,  is 
of  us  yet,  but  absent  on 
the  eastward  tramp;  a 
fine  lass,  of  nice  ways 
and  orderly  conduct, 
none  ever  seeing  her 
drunk  above  four  days 
in  the  seven." 

"  She  was  ever  strict 
—  I  remember  it  well  — 
a  goodly  wench  and 
worthy  all  commenda 
tion.  Her  mother  was 
more  free  and  less  par 
ticular  ;  a  troublesome 

and  ugly  tempered  beldame,  but  furnished  with  a  wit  above 
the  common,'1 

"  We  lost  her  through  it.     Her  gift  of  palmistry  and  other 


i 


WHILST  THE  FLAMES  LICKED  UPWARDS. 


*  Canting  terms  for  various  kinds   of   thieves,  beggars  and  vaga 
bonds,  and  their  female  companions. 


152  FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 

sorts  of  fortune-telling  begot  for  her  at  last  a  witch's  name 
and  fame.  The  law  roasted  her  to  death  at  a  slow  fire.  It 
did  touch  me  to  a  sort  of  tenderness  to  see  the  gallant  way 
she  met  her  lot — cursing  and  reviling  all  the  crowd  that 
gaped  and  gazed  around  her,  whilst  the  flames  licked  upward 
toward  her  face  and  catched  her  thin  locks  and  crackled 
about  her  old  gray  head — cursing  them,  said  I  ? — cursing 
them  !  why  an'  thou  shouldst  live  a  thousand  years  thoud'st 
never  hear  so  masterful  a  cursing.  Alack,  her  art  died  with 
her.  There  be  base  and  weakling  imitations  left,  but  no  true 
blasphemy." 

The  Ruffler  sighed;  the  listeners  sighed  in  sympathy;  a 
general  depression  fell  upon  the  company  for  a  moment,  for 
even  hardened  outcasts  like  these  are  not  wholly  dead  to  sen 
timent,  but  are  able  to  feel  a  fleeting  sense  of  loss  and  afflic 
tion  at  wide  intervals  and  under  peculiarly  favoring  circum 
stances — as  in  cases  like  to  this,  for  instance,  when  genius 
and  culture  depart  and  leave  no  heir.  However,  a  deep  drink 
all  round  soon  restored  the  spirits  of  the  mourners. 

"  Have  any  others  of  our  friends  fared  hardly? "  asked  Hobbs. 

"  Some  —  yes.  Particularly  new  comers — such  as  small 
husbandmen  turned  shiftless  and  hungry  upon  the  world  be 
cause  their  farms  were  taken  from  them  to  be  changed  to 
sheep  ranges.  They  begged,  and  were  whipped  at  the  cart's 
tail,  naked  from  the  girdle  up,  till  the  blood  ran;  then  set  in 
the  stocks  to  be  pelted;  they  begged  again,  were  whipped 
again,  and  deprived  of  an  ear;  they  begged  a  third  time — 
poor  devils,  what  else  could  they  do  ? — and  were  branded  on 
the  cheek  with  a  red  hot  iron,  then  sold  for  slaves;  they  ran 
away,  were  hunted  down,  and  hanged.  'Tis  a  brief  tale,  and 
quickly  told.  Others  of  us  have  fared  less  hardly.  Stand 
forth,  Yokel,  Burns,  and  Hodge — show  your  adornments  !  " 

These  stood  up  and  stripped  away  some  of  their  rags,  ex 
posing  their  backs,  criss-crossed  with  ropy  old  welts  left  by 


FOOFOO    THE    FIRST.  153 

the  lash;  one  turned  up  his  hair  and  showed  the  place  where 
a  left  ear  had  once  been;  another  showed  a  brand  upon  his 
shoulder — the  letter  V — and  a  mutilated  ear;  the  third  said— 
"  I  am  Yokel,  once  a  farmer  and  prosperous,  with  loving 
wife  and  kids — now  am  I  somewhat  different  in  estate  and 
calling;  and  the  wife  and  kids  are  gone;  mayhap  they  are  in 
heaven,  mayhap  in — in  the  other  place — but  the  kindly  God 
be  thanked,  they  bide  no  more  in  England !  My  good  old 
blameless  mother  strove  to  earn  bread  by  nursing  the  sick; 
one  of  these  died,  the  doctors  knew  not  how,  so  my  mother 
was  burnt  for  a  witch,  whilst  my  babes  looked  on  and  wailed. 
English  law! — up,  all,  with  your  cups! — now  altogether  and 
with  a  cheer! — drink  to  the  merciful  English  law  that  de 
livered  her  from  the  English  hell!  Thank  you,  mates,  one 
and  all.  I  begged,  from  house  to  house — I  and  the  wife — 
bearing  with  us  the  hungry  kids — but  it  was  crime  to  be 
hungry  in  England — so  they  stripped  us  and  lashed  us  through 
three  towns.  Drink  ye  all  again  to  the  merciful  English  law! 
—for  its  lash  drank  deep  of  my  Mary's  blood  and  its  blessed 
deliverance  came  quick.  She  lies  there,  in  the  potter's  field, 
safe  from  all  harms.  And  the  kids— well,  whilst  the  law 
lashed  me  from  town  to  town,  they  starved.  Drink  lads — only 
a  drop — a  drop  to  the  poor  kids,  that  never  did  any  creature 
harm.  I  begged  again — begged  for  a  crust,  and  got  the 
stocks  and  lost  an  ear — see,  here  bides  the  stump;  I  begged 
again,  and  here  is  the  stump  of  the  other  to  keep  me  minded 
of  it.  And  still  I  begged  again,  and  was  sold  for  a  slave — 
here  on  my  cheek  under  this  stain,  if  I  washed  it  off,  ye  might 
see  the  red  S  the  branding-iron  left  there!  A  SLAVE!  Do  ye 
understand  that  word!  An  English  SLAVE! — that  is  he  that 
stands  before  ye.  I  have  run  from  my  master,  and  when  I 
am  found — the  heavy  curse  of  heaven  fall  on  the  law  of  the 
land  that  hath  commanded  it! — I  shall  hang! "  * 
*  See  Note  10,  at  end  of  volume. 


FOO-FOO   THE    FIRST. 

A  ringing  voice  came  through  the  murky  air 

"Thou  shalt  not!— and  this  day  the  end  of  that  law  is 
come! " 

All  turned,  and  saw  the  fantastic  figure  of  the  little  king 
approaching  hurriedly;  as  it  emerged  into  the  light  and  was 
clearly  revealed,  a  general  explosion  of  inquiries  broke  out: 


"THOU    SHALT    NOT." 

"  Who  is  it  ?      What  is  it  ?     Who  art  thou,  manikin  ? " 
The  boy  stood  unconfused  in  the  midst  of  all  those  sur 
prised  and  questioning  eyes,  and  answered  with  princely  dig^ 
nity — 

"I  am  Edward,  king  of  England." 


FOO-FOO  THE   FIRST.  155 

A  wild  burst  of  laughter  followed,  partly  of  derision  and 
partly  of  delight  in  the  excellence  of  the  joke.  The  king  was 
stung.  He  said  sharply— 

"Ye  mannerless  vagrants,  is  this  your  recognition  of  the 
royal  boon  I  have  promised?" 

He  said  more,  with  angry  voice  and  excited  gesture,  but  it 
was  lost  in  a  whirlwind  of  laughter  and  mocking  exclamations. 
"  John  Hobbs  "  made  several  attempts  to  make  himself  heard 
above  the  din,  and  at  last  succeeded — saying — 

"  Mates,  he  is  my  son,  a  dreamer,  a  fool,  and  stark  mad- 
mind  him  not — he  thinketh  he  is  the  king." 

"I  am  the  king,"  said  Edward,  turning  toward  him,  "as 
thou  shalt  know  to  thy  cost,  in  good  time.  Thou  hast  con 
fessed  a  murder — thou  shalt  swing  for  it." 

"  Thou  It  betray  me  ? — thou  ?  An'  I  get  my  hands  upon 
thee  " — 

"Tut-tut!"  said  the  burly  Ruffler,  interposing  in  time  to 
save  the  king,  and  emphasizing  this  service  by  knocking 
Hobbs  down  with  his  fist,  "  hast  respect  for  neither  Kings  nor 
Rufflers  ?  An'  thou  insult  my  presence  so  again,  I'll  hang 
thee  up  myself."  Then  he  said  to  his  majesty,  "Thou  must 
make  no  threats  against  thy  mates,  lad;  and  thou  must  guard 
thy  tongue  from  saying  evil  of  them  elsewhere.  Be  king,  if 
it  please  thy  mad  humor,  but  be  not  harmful  in  it.  Sink  the 
title  thou  hast  uttered, — 'tis  treason;  we  be  bad  men,  in  some 
few  trifling  ways,  but  none  among  us  is  so  base  as  to  be  traitor 
to  his  king;  we  be  loving  and  loyal  hearts,  in  that  regard. 
Note  if  I  speak  truth.  Now — all  together:  'Long  live  Ed 
ward,  king  of  England! ' ' 

"LONG  LIVE  EDWARD,  KING  OF  ENGLAND!  " 

The  response  came  with  such  a  thundergust  from  the  mot 
ley  crew  that  the  crazy  building  vibrated  to  the  sound.  The 
little  king's  face  lighted  with  pleasure  for  an  instant,  and  he 
slightly  inclined  his  head  and  said  with  grave  simplicity — 


156 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST. 


"I  thank  yon,  my  good  people." 

This  unexpected  result  threw  the  company  into  convulsions 
of  merriment.  When'  something  like  quiet  was  presently 
come  again,  the  Ruffler  said,  firmly,  but  with  an  accent  of 
good  nature — 

"  Drop  it,  boy,  'tis  not  wise,  nor  well.  Humor  thy  fancy, 
if  thou  must,  but  choose  some  other  title." 


A  tinker  shrieked  out  a  suggestion— 

"  Foo-foo  the  First,  King  of  the  Mooncalves! " 

The  title  "  took,"  at  once,  every  throat  responded,  and  a 

roaring  shout  went  up,  of— 

"Long  live  Foo-foo  the  First,  King  of  the  Mooncalves!  " 

followed  by  hootings,  cat-calls,  and  peals  of  laughter. 
"  Hale  him  forth,  and  crown  him! " 
"Robe  him!" 


FOO-FOO   THE   FIRST.  157 

"Sceptre  him!" 

"  Throne  him!  " 

These  and  twenty  other  cries  broke  out  at  once;  and  al 
most  before  the  poor  little  victim  could  draw  a  breath  he  was 
crowned  with  a  tin  basin,  robed  in  a  tattered  blanket,  throned 
upon  a  barrel,  and  sceptred  with  the  tinker's  soldering-iron. 
Then  all  flung  themselves  upon  their  knees  about  him  and 
sent  up  a  chorus  of  ironical  wailings,  and  mocking  supplica 
tions,  whilst  they  swabbed  their  eyes  with  their  soiled  and 
ragged  sleeves  and  aprons — 

"  Be  gracious  to  us,  O,  sweet  king!  " 

"  Trample  not  upon  thy  beseeching  worms,O  noble  majesty !" 

"  Pity  thy  slaves,  and  comfort  them  with  a  royal  kick! " 

"  Cheer  us  and  warm  us  with  thy  gracious  rays,  O  flaming 
sun  of  sovereignty!" 

"  Sanctify  the  ground  with  the  touch  of  thy  foot,  that  we 
may  eat  the  dirt  and  be  ennobled! " 

"  Deign  to  spit  upon  us,  O  sire,  that  our  children's  children 
may  tell  of  thy  princely  condescension,  and  be  proud  and 
happy  forever!  " 

But  the  humorous  tinker  made  the  "hit"  of  the  evening 
and  carried  off  the  honors.  Kneeling,  he  pretended  to  kiss 
the  king's  foot,  and  was  indignantly  spurned;  whereupon  he 
went  about  begging  for  a  rag  to  paste  over  the  place  upon  his 
face  which  had  been  touched  by  the  foot,  saying  it  must  be 
preserved  from  contact  with  the  vulgar  air,  and  that  he  should 
make  his  fortune  by  going  on  the  highway  and  exposing  it  to 
view  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  shillings  a  sight.  He  made 
himself  so  killingly  funny  that  he  was  the  envy  and  admiration 
of  the  whole  mangy  rabble. 

Tears  of  shame  and  indignation  stood  in  the  little  mon 
arch's  eyes;  and  the  thought  in  his  heart  was,  "  Had  I  offered 
them  a  deep  wrong  they  could  not  be  more-erueWyet  have 
I  proffered  nought  but  to  do  them  a/kindness — and  it  is  thus 
they  use  me  for  it!  "  / 

UNIVERSITY! 

* 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    PRINCE    WITH    THE    TRAMPS. 

THE  troop  of  vagabonds  turned  out  at  early  dawn,  and  set 
forward  on  their  march.  There  was  a  lowering  sky  overhead, 
sloppy  ground  under  foot,  and  a  winter  chill  in  the  air.  All 
gayety  was  gone  from  the  company;  some  were  sullen  and 
silent,  some  were  irritable  and  petulant,  none  were  gentle- 
humored,  all  were  thirsty. 

The  Ruffler  put  "  Jack  "  in  Hugo's  charge,  with  some  brief 
instructions,  and  commanded  John  Canty  to  keep  away  from 
him  and  let  him  alone;  he  also  warned  Hugo  not  to  be  too 
rough  with  the  lad. 

After  a  while  the  weather  grew  milder,  and  the  clouds 
lifted  somewhat.  The  troop  ceased  to  shiver,  and  their  spirits 
began  to  improve.  They  grew  more  and  more  cheerful,  and 
finally  began  to  chaff  each  other  and  insult  passengers  along 
the  highway.  This  showed  that  they  were  awaking  to  an  ap 
preciation  of  life  and  its  joys  once  more.  The  dread  in  which 
their  sort  was  held  was  apparent  in  the  fact  that  everybody 
gave  them  the  road,  and  took  their  ribald  insolences  meekly, 
without  venturing  to  talk  back.  They  snatched  linen  from 
the  hedges,  occasionally,  in  full  view  of  the  owners,  who  made 
no  protest,  but  only  seemed  grateful  that  they  did  not  tak» 
the  hedges,  too. 

By  and  by  they  invaded  a  small  farm  house  and  made 
themselves  at  home  while  the  trembling  farmer  and  his  peo 
ple  swept  the  larder  clean  to  furnish  a  breakfast  for  them. 

158 


THE   PRINCE   WITH    THE    TRAMPS.  159 

They  chucked  the  housewife  and  her  daughters  under  the 
chin  whilst  receiving  the  food  from  their  hands,  and  made 
coarse  jests  about  them,  accompanied  with  insulting  epithets 
and  bursts  of  horse-laughter.  They  threw  bones  and  vege 
tables  at  the  farmer  and  his  sons,  kept  them  .dodging  all  the 
time,  and  applauded  uproariously  when  a  good  hit  was  made. 
They  ended  by  buttering  the  head  of  one  of  the  daughters 
who  resented  some  of  their  familiarities.  When  they  took 
their  leave  they  threatened  to  come  back  and  burn  the  house 
over  the  heads  of  the  family  if  any  report  of  their  doings  got 
to  the  ears  of  the  authorities. 

About  noon,  after  a  long  and  weary  tramp,  the  gang  came 
to  a  halt  behind  a  hedge  on  the  outskirts  of  a  considerable 
village.  An  hour  was  allowed  for  rest,  then  the  crew  scat 
tered  themselves  abroad  to  enter  the  village  at  different  points 
to  ply  their  various  trades.— "  Jack  "  was  sent  with  Hugo. 
They  wandered  hither  and  thither  for  some  time,  Hugo 
watching  for  opportunities  to  do  a  stroke  of  business  but 
finding  none — so  he  finally  said — 

"I  see  nought  to  steal;  it  is  a  paltry  place.  Wherefore 
we  will  beg." 

"  We,  forsooth  !  Follow  thy  trade— it  befits  thee.  But/ 
will  not  beg." 

"Thou'lt  not  beg  !  "  exclaimed  Hugo,  eying  the  king  with 
surprise.  "  Prithee,  since  when  hast  thou  reformed?  " 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?  Hast  thou  not  begged  the  streets  of  London  all 
thy  life?" 

"  I  ?     Thou  idiot  !  " 

"Spare  thy  compliments — thy  stock  will  last  the  longer. 
Thy  father  says  thou  hast  begged  all  thy  days.  Mayhap  he 
lied.  Peradventure  you  will  even  make  so  bold  as  to  say  he 
lied,"  scoffed  Hugo. 

"  Him  jw/  call  my  father  ?     Yes,  he  lied." 


l6o  THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 

"  Come,  play  not  thy  merry  game  of  madman  so  far,  mate; 
use  it  for  thy  amusement,  not  thy  hurt.  An'  I  tell  him  this, 
he  will  scorch  thee  finely  for  it." 

"  Save  thyself  the  trouble.     I  will  tell  him." 

"  I  like  thy  spirit,  I  do  in  truth;  but  I  do  not  admire  thy 
judgment.  Bone-rackings  and  bastings  be  plenty  enow  in 
this  life,  without  going  out  of  one's  way  to  invite  them.  But 
a  truce  to  these  matters;  /believe  your  father.  I  doubt  not 
he  can  lie;  I  doubt  not  he  doth  lie,  upon  occasion,  for  the 
best  of  us  do  that;  but  there  is  no  occasion  here.  A  wise 
man  does  not  waste  so  good  a  commodity  as  lying  for  nought. 
But  come;  sith  it  is  thy  humor  to  give  over  begging,  where 
withal  shall  we  busy  ourselves?  With  robbing  kitchens  ?  " 

The  king  said,  impatiently— 

"  Have  done  with  this  folly — you  weary  me  !  " 

Hugo  replied,  with  temper — 

11  Now  harkee,  mate;  you  will  not  beg,  you  will  not  rob;  so 
be  it.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  you  will  do.  You  will  play 
decoy  whilst  /  beg.  Refuse,  an'  you  think  you  may  ven 
ture  ! " 

The  king  was  about  to  reply  contemptuously,  when  Hugo 
said,  interrupting — 

"  Peace  !  Here  comes  one  with  a  kindly  face.  Now  will 
I  fall  down  in  a  fit.  When  the  stranger  runs  to  me,  set  you 
up  a  wail,  and  fall  upon  your  knees,  seeming  to  weep;  then 
cry  out  as  all  the  devils  of  misery  were  in  your  belly,  and  say, 
*  O,  sir,  it  is  my  poor  afflicted  brother,  and  we  be  friendless; 
o*  God's  name  cast  through  your  merciful  eyes  one  pitiful 
look  upon  a  sick,  forsaken  and  most  miserable  wretch;  bestow 
one  little  penny  out  of  thy  riches  upon  one  smitten  of  God 
and  ready  to  perish  ! ' — and  mind  you,  keep  you  on  wailing, 
and  abate  not  till  we  bilk  him  of  his  penny,  else  shall  you  rue 
it." 

Then  immediately  Hugo  began  to  moan,  and  groan,  and 


THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   TRAMPS.  l6l 

roll  his  eyes,  and  reel  and  totter  about;  and  when  the  stran 
ger  was  close  at  hand,  down  he  sprawled  before  him,  with  a 
shriek,  and  began  to  writhe  and  wallow  in  the  dirt,  in  seem 
ing  agony. 

"  O  dear,  O  dear  !  "  cried  the  benevolent  stranger.  "  O 
poor  soul,  poor  soul,  how  he  doth  surfer !  There — let  me 
help  thee  up." 

"  O,  noble  sir,  forbear,  and  God  love  you  for  a  princely 
gentleman — but  it  giveth  me  cruel  pain  to  touch  me  when  I 
am  taken  so.  My  brother  there  will  tell  your  worship  how  I 
am  racked  with  anguish  when  these  fits  be  upon  me.  A 
penny,  dear  sir,  a  penny,  to  buy  a  little  food;  then  leave  me 
to  my  sorrows." 

"  A  penny  !  thou  shalt  have  three,  thou  hapless  creature  " 
—and  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket  with  nervous  haste  and  got 
them  out.  "  There,  poor  lad,  take  them,  and  most  welcome. 
Now  come  hither,  my  boy,  and  help  me  carry  thy  stricken 
brother  to  yon  house,  where  "- 

"I  am  not  his  brother,"  said  the  king,  interrupting. 

"  What  !  not  his  brother  ?  " 

"  O  hear  him  !  "  groaned  Hugo,  then  privately  ground  his 
teeth.  "  He  denies  his  own  brother — and  he  with  one  foot 
in  the  grave  !  " 

"  Boy,  thou  art  indeed  hard  of  heart,  if  this  is  thy  brother. 
For  shame  ! — and  he  scarce  able  to  move  hand  or  foot.  If 
he  is  not  thy  brother,  who  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  A  beggar  and  a  thief  !  He  has  got  your  money  and  has 
picked  your  pocket  likewise.  An*  thou  wouldst  do  a  healing 
miracle,  lay  thy  staff  over  his  shoulders  and  trust  Providence 
for  the  rest." 

But  Hugo  did  not  tarry  for  the  miracle.  In  a  moment  he 
was  up  and  off  like  the  wind,  the  gentleman  following  after  and 
raising  the  hue  and  cry  lustily  as  he  went.  The  king,  breath 
ing  deep  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  his  own  release,  fled  in  the 


l62  THE    PRINCE   WITH    THE    TRAMPS. 

opposite  direction  and  did  not  slacken  his  pace  until  he  was 
out  of  harm's  reach.  He  took  the  first  road  that  offered,  and 
soon  put  the  village  behind  him.  He  hurried  along,  as  brisk 
ly  as  he  could,  during  several  hours,  keeping  a  nervous 
watch  over  his  shoulder  for  pursuit;  but  his  fears  left  him  at 
last,  and  a  grateful  sense  of  security  took  their  place.  He 
recognized,  now,  that  he  was  hungry;  and  also  very  tired. 
So  he  halted  at  a  farm  house;  but  when  he  was  about  to 
speak,  he  was  cut  short  and  driven  rudely  away.  His  clothes 
were  against  him. 

He  wandered  on,  wounded  and  indignant,  and  was  resolved 
to  put  himself  in  the  way  of  light  treatment  no  more.  But 
hunger  is  pride's  master;  so  as  the  evening  drew  near,  he 
made  an  attempt  at  another  farm  house;  but  here  he  fared 
worse  than  before;  for  he  was  called  hard  names  and  was 
promised  arrest  as  a  vagrant  except  he  moved  on  promptly. 

The  night  came  on,  chilly  and  overcast;  and  still  the  foot 
sore  monarch  labored  slowly  on.  He  was  obliged  to  keep 
moving,  for  every  time  he  sat  down  to  rest  he  was  soon  pen 
etrated  to  the  bone  with  the  cold.  All  his  sensations  and  ex 
periences,  as  he  moved  through  the  solemn  gloom  and  the 
empty  vastness  of  the  night,  were  new  and  strange  to  him. 
At  intervals  he  heard  voices  approach,  pass  by,  and  fade  into 
silence;  and  as  he  saw  nothing  more  of  the  bodies  they  be 
longed  to  than  a  sort  of  formless  drifting  blur,  there  was 
something  spectral  and  uncanny  about  it  all  that  made  him 
shudder.  Occasionally  he  caught  the  twinkle  of  a  light — al 
ways  far  away,  apparently — almost  in  another  world;  if  he 
heard  the  tinkle  of  a  sheep's  bell,  it  was  vague,  distant,  in 
distinct;  the  muffled  lowing  of  the  herds  floated  to  him  on 
the  night  wind  in  vanishing  cadences,  a  mournful  sound  ; 
now  and  then  came  the  complaining  howl  of  a  dog  over  view 
less  expanses  of  field  and  forest;  all  sounds  were  remote; 
they  made  the  little  king  feel  that  all  life  and  activity  were 


THE   PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 


I63 


far  removed   from  him,  and  that  he  stood  solitary,  cornpan- 
ionless,  in  the  centre  of  a  measureless  solitude, 

He  stumbled  along,  through  the  grewsome  fascinations  of 
this  new  experience,  startled  occasionally  by  the  soft  rustling 
of  the  dry  leaves  overhead,  so  like  human  whispers  they 
seemed  to  sound;  and  by  and  by  he  came  suddenly  upon  the 


"  HE    STUMBLED   ALONG." 

freckled  light  of  a  tin  lantern  near  at  hand.  He  stepped 
back  into  the  shadows  and  waited.  The  lantern  stood  by  the 
open  door  of  a  barn.  The  king  waited  some  time — there  was 
no  sound,  and  nobody  stirring.  He  got  so  cold,  standing 
still,  and  the  hospitable  barn  looked  so  enticing,  that  at  last 


164  THE    PRINCE   WITH    THE   TRAMPS. 

he  resolved  to  risk  everything  and  enter.  He  started  swiftly 
and  stealthily,  and  just  as  he  was  crossing  the  threshold  he 
heard  voices  behind  him.  He  darted  behind  a  cask,  within 
the  barn,  and  stooped  down.  Two  farm  laborers  came  in, 
bringing  the  lantern  with  them,  and  fell  to  work,  talking 
meanwhile.  Whilst  they  moved  about  with  the  light,  the 
king  made  good  use  of  his  eyes  and  took  the  bearings  of  what 
seemed  to  be  a  good  sized  stall  at  the  further  end  of  the 
place,  purposing  to  grope  his  way  to  it  when  he  should  be  left 
to  himself.  He  also  noted  the  position  of  a  pile  of  horse 
blankets,  midway  of  the  route,  with  the  intent  to  levy  upon 
them  for  the  service  of  the  crown  of  England  for  one  night. 

By  and  by  the  men  finished  and  went  away,  fastening  the 
door  behind  them  and  taking  the  lantern  with  them.  The 
shivering  king  made  for  the  blankets,  with  as  gopd  speed  as 
the  darkness  would  allow;  gathered  them  up  and  then  groped 
his  way  safely  to  the  stall.  Of  two  of  the  blankets  he  made 
a  bed,  then  covered  himself  with  the  remaining  two.  He  was 
a  glad  monarch,  now,  though  the  blankets  were  old  and  thin, 
and  not  quite  warm  enough;  and  besides  gave  out  a  pungent 
horsy  odor  that  was  almost  suffocatingly  powerful. 

Although  the  king  was  hungry  and  chilly,  he  was  also  so 
tired  and  so  drowsy  that  these  latter  influences  soon  began  to 
get  the  advantage  of  the  former,  and  he  presently  dozed  off 
into  a  state  of  semi-consciousness.  Then,  just  as  he  was  on 
the  point  of  losing  himself  wholly,  he  distinctly  felt  something 
touch  him  !  He  was  broad  awake  in  a  moment,  and  gasping 
for  breath.  The  cold  horror  of  that  mysterious  touch  in  the 
dark  almost  made  his  heart  stand  still.  He  lay  motionless, 
and  listened,  scarcely  breathing.  But  nothing  stirred,  and 
there  was  no  sound.  He  continued  to  listen,  and  wait, 
during  what  seemed  a  long  time,  but  still  nothing  stirred,  and 
there  was  no  sound.  So  he  began  to  drop  into  a  drowse 
once  more,  at  last;  and  all  at  once  he  felt  that  mysterious 


THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   TRAMPS.  165 

touch  again  !  It  was  a  grisly  thing,  this  light  touch  from 
this  noiseless  and  invisible  presence;  it  made  the  boy  sick 
with  ghostly  fears.  What  should  he  do  ?  That  was  the 
question;  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  answer  it.  Should  he 
leave  these  reasonably  comfortable  quarters  and  fly  from  this 
inscrutable  horror  ?  But  fly  whither  ?  He  could  not  get 
out  of  the  barn;  and  the  idea  of  scurrying  blindly  hither  and 
thither  in  the  dark,  within  the  captivity  of  the  four  walls, 
with  this  phantom  gliding  after  him,  and  visiting  him  with 
that  soft  hideous  touch  upon  cheek  or  shoulder  at  every  turn, 
was  intolerable.  But  to  stay  where  he  was,  and  endure  this 
living  death  all  night? — was  that  better?  No.  What,  then, 
was  there  left  to  do  ?  Ah,  there  was  but  one  course;  he  knew 
it  well — he  must  put  out  his  hand  and  find  that  thing ! 

It  was  easy  to  think  this;  but  it  was  hard  to  brace  himself 
up  to  try  it.  Three  times  he  stretched  his  hand  a  little  way 
out  into  the  dark,  gingerly;  and  snatched  it  suddenly  back, 
with  a  gasp— not  because  it  had  encountered  any  thing,  but 
because  he  had  felt  so  sure  it  was  just  going  to.  But  the 
fourth  time,  he  groped  a  little  further,  and  his  hand  lightly 
swept  against  something  soft  and  warm.  This  petrified  him, 
nearly,  with  fright — his  mind  was  in  such  a  state  that  he 
could  imagine  the  thing  to  be  nothing  else  than  a  corpse, 
newly  dead  and  still  warm.  He  thought  he  would  rather 
die  than  touch  it  again.  But  he  thought  this  false  thought 
because  he  did  not  know  the  immortal  strength  of  human 
curiosity.  In  no  long  time  his  hand  was  tremblingly  groping 
again — against  his  judgment,  and  without  his  consent — but 
groping  persistently  on,  just  the  same.  It  encountered  a 
bunch  of  long  hair;  he  shuddered,  but  followed  up  the  hair 
and  found  what  seemed  to  be  a  warm  rope;  followed  up  the 
rope  and  found  an  innocent  calf  ! — for  the  rope  was  not  a 
rope  at  all,  but  the  calf's  tail. 

The  king  was  cordially  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  got- 


l66  THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 

ten  all  that  fright  and  misery  out  of  so  paltry  a  matter  as  a 
slumbering  calf;  but  he  need  not  have  felt  so  about  it,  for  it 
was  not  the  calf  that  frightened  him  but  a  dreadful  non-ex 
istent  something  which  the  calf  stood  for;  and  any  other  boy, 
in  those  old  superstitious  times,  would  have  acted  and  suffered 
just  as  he  had  done. 

The  king  was  not  only  delighted  to  find  that  the  creature 
was  only  a  calf,  but  delighted  to  have  the  calf's  company;  for 
he  had  been  feeling  so  lonesome  and  friendless  that  the  com 
pany  and  comradeship  of  even  this  humble  animal  was  wel 
come.  And  he  had  been  so  buffeted,  so  rudely  entreated  by 
his  own  kind,  that  it  was  a  real  comfort  to  him  to  feel  that  he 
was  at  last  in  the  society  of  a  fellow  creature  that  had  at  least 
a  soft  heart  and  a  gentle  spirit,  whatever  loftier  attributes 
might  be  lacking.  So  he  resolved  to  waive  rank  and  make 
friends  with  the  calf. 

While  stroking  its  sleek  warm  back — for  it  lay  near  him 
and  within  easy  reach — it  occurred  to  him  that  this  calf  might 
be  utilized  in  more  ways  than  one.  Whereupon  he  re-arranged 
his  bed,  spreading  it  down  close  to  the  calf;  then  he  cuddled 
himself  up  to  the  calf's  back,  drew  the  covers  up  over  himself 
and  his  friend,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  was  as  warm  and  com 
fortable  as  he  had  ever  been  in  the  downy  couches  of  the  re 
gal  palace  of  Westminster. 

Pleasant  thoughts  came,  at  once;  life  took  on  a  cheerfuller 
seeming.  He  was  free  of  the  bonds  of  servitude  and  crime, 
free  of  the  companionship  of  base  and  brutal  outlaws;  he  was 
"warm,  he  was  sheltered;  in  a  word,  he  was  happy.  The  night 
wind  was  rising;  it  swept  by  in  fitful  gusts  that  made  the  old 
barn  quake  and  rattle,  then  its  forces  died  down  at  intervals, 
and  went  moaning  and  wailing  around  corners  and  projections 
— but  it  was  all  music  to  the  king,  now  that  he  was  snug  and 
comfortable:  let  it  blow  and  rage,  let  it  batter  and  bang,  let 
it  moan  and  wail,  he  minded  it  not,  he  only  enjoyed  it.  He 


THE    PRINCE   WITH    THE    TRAMPS.  l6/ 

merely  snuggled  the  closer  to  his  friend,  in  a  luxury  of  warm 
contentment,  and  drifted  blissfully  out  of  consciousness  into 
a  deep  and  dreamless  sleep  that  was  full  of  serenity  and  peace. 
The  distant  dogs  howled,  the  melancholy  kine  complained, 
and  the  winds  went  on  raging,  whilst  furious  sheets  of  rain 
drove  along  the  roof;  but  the  majesty  of  England  slept  on, 
undisturbed,  and  the  calf  did  the  same,  it  being  a  simple 
creature  and  not  easily  troubled  by  storms  or  embarrassed  by 
sleeping  with  a  king. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    PRINCE    WITH    THE    PEASANTS. 

WHEN  the  king  awoke  in  the  early  morning,  he  found  that 
a  wet  but  thoughtful  rat  had  crept  into  the  place  during  the 
night  and  made  a  cosey  bed  for  itself  in  his  bosom.  Being- 
disturbed,  now,  it  scampered  away.  The  boy  smiled,  and 
said,  "  Poor  fool,  why  so  fearful?  I  am  as  forlorn  as  thou. 
'Twould  be  a  shame  in  me  to  hurt  the  helpless,  who  am  my 
self  so  helpless.  -Moreover,  I  owe  you  thanks  for  a  good 
omen;  for  when  a  king  has  fallen  so  low  that  the  very  rats  do 
make  a  bed  of  him,  it  surely  meaneth  that  his  fortunes  be 
upon  the  turn,  since  it  is  plain  he  can  no  lower  go." 

He  got  up  and  stepped  out  of  the  stall,  and  just  then  he 
heard  the  sound  of  children's  voices.  The  barn  door  opened 
and  a  couple  of  little  girls  came  in.  As  soon  as  they  saw  him 
their  talking  and  laughing  ceased,  and  they  stopped  and  stood 
still,  gazing  at  him  with  strong  curiosity;  they  presently  be 
gan  to  whisper  together,  then  they  approached  nearer,  and 
stopped  again  to  gaze  and  whisper.  By  and  by  they  gathered 
courage  and  began  to  discuss  him  aloud.  One  said — 

"  He  hath  a  comely  face." 

The  other  added— 

"  And  pretty  hair." 

"But  is  ill  clothed  enow." 

"  And  how  starved  he  looketh." 

They  came  still  nearer,  sidling  shyly  around  and  about  him, 
examining  him  minutely  from  all  points,  as  if  he  were  some 

1 68 


THE   TRINCE   WITH   THE   PEASANTS.  169 

strange  new  kind  of  animal;  but  warily  and  watchfully,  the 
while,  as  if  they  half  feared  he  might  be  a  sort  of  animal  that 
would  bite,  upon  occasion.  Finally  they  halted  before  him, 
holding  each  other's  hands,  for  protection,  and  took  a  good 
satisfying  stare  with  their  innocent  eyes;  then  one  of  them 
plucked  up  all  her  courage  and  inquired  with  honest  direct 
ness — 

"  Who  art  thou,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  king,"  was  the  grave  answer. 

The  children  gave  a  little  start,  and  their  eyes  spread  them 
selves  wide  open  and  remained  so  during  a  speechless  half 
minute.  Then  curiosity  broke  the  silence — 

"The  king?     What  king?" 

"  The  king  of  England." 

The  children  looked  at  each  other— then  at  him — then  at 
each  other  again — wonderingly,  perplexedly — then  one  said — 

"  Didst  hear  him,  Margery  ? — he  saith  he  is  the  king.  Can 
that  be  true  ? " 

"  How  can  it  be  else  but  true,  Prissy?  Would  he  say  a 
lie  ?  For  look  you,  Prissy,  an'  it  were  not  true,  it  would  be 
a  lie.  It  surely  would  be.  Now  think  on't.  For  all  things 
that  be  not  true,  be  lies — thou  canst  make  nought  else  out 
of  it." 

It  was  a  good  tight  argument,  without  a  leak  in  it  any 
where;  and  it  left  Prissy's  half- doubts  not  a  leg  to  stand  on. 
She  considered  a  moment,  then  put  the  king  upon  his  honor 
with  the  simple  remark — 

"  If  thou  art  truly  the  king,  then  I  believe  thee." 

"  I  am  truly  the  king." 

This  settled  the  matter.  His  majesty's  royalty  was  ac 
cepted  without  further  question  or  discussion,  and  the  two 
little  girls  began  at  once  to  inquire  into  how  he  came  to  be 
where  he  was,  and  'how  he  came  to  be  so  unroyally  clad,  and 
whither  he  was  bound,  and  all  about  his  affairs.  It  was  a 


i  ;o 


THE   PRINCE   WITH    THE    PEASANTS. 


mighty  relief  to  him  to  pour  out  his  troubles  where  they  would 
not  be  scoffed  at  or  doubted;  so  he  told  his  tale  with  feeling, 
forgetting  even  his  hunger  for  the  time;  and  it  was  received 
with  the  deepest  and  tenderest  sympathy  by  the  gentle  little 
maids.  But  when  he  got  down  to  his  latest  experiences  and 
they  learned  how  long  he  had 
been  without  food,  they  cut  him 


"TOOK   A   GOOD   SATISFYING   STARE." 

short  and  hurried  him  away  to 
the  farm  house  to  find  a  break 
fast  for  him. 

The  king  was  cheerful  and  happy,  now,  and  said  to  himself, 
"When  lam  come  to  mine  own  again,  I  will  always  honor 
little  children,  remembering  how  that  these  trusted  me  and 
believed  in  me  in  my  time  of  trouble;  whilst  they  that  were 
older,  and  thought  themselves  wiser,  mocked  at  me  and  held 
me  for  a  liar." 


THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   PEASANTS.  I/ 1 

The  children's  mother  received  the  king  kindly,  and  was 
full  of  pity;  for  his  forlorn  condition  and  apparently  crazed 
intellect  touched  her  womanly  heart.  She  was  a  widow,  and 
rather  poor;  consequently  she  had  seen  trouble  enough  to 
enable  her  to  feel  for  the  unfortunate.  She  imagined  that  the 
demented  boy  had  wandered  away  from  his  friends  or  keep 
ers;  so  she  tried  to  find  out  whence  he  had  come,  in  order 
that  she  might  take  measures  to  return  him;  but  all  her  refer 
ences  to  neighboring  towns  and  villages,  and  all  her  inquiries 
in  the  same  line,  went  for  nothing — the  boy's  face,  and  his 
answers,  too,  showed  that  the  things  she  was  talking  of  were 
not  familiar  to  him.  He  spoke  earnestly  and  simply  about 
court  matters;  and  broke  down,  more  than  once,  when  speak 
ing  of  the  late  king  "his  father;"  but  whenever  the  conversa 
tion  changed  to  baser  topics,  he  lost  interest  and  became 
silent. 

The  woman  was  mightily  puzzled;  but  she  did  not  give  up. 
As  she  proceeded  with  her  cooking,  she  set  herself  to  con 
triving  devices  to  surprise  the  boy  into  betraying  his  real 
secret.  She  talked  about  cattle — he  showed  no  concern;  then 
about  sheep — the  same  result — so  her  guess  that  he  had  been 
a  shepherd  boy  was  an  error;  she  talked  about  mills;  and 
about  weavers,  tinkers,  smiths,  trades  and  tradesmen  of  all 
sorts;  and  about  Bedlam,  and  jails,  and  charitable  retreats; 
but  no  matter,  she  was  baffled  at  all  points.  -Not  altogether, 
either;  for  she  argued  that  she  had  narrowed  the  thing  down 
to  domestic  service.  Yes,  she  was  sure  she  was  on  the  right 
track,  now — he  must  have  been  a  house  servant.  So  she  led 
up  to  that.  But  the  result  was  discouraging.  The  subject  of 
sweeping  appeared  to  weary  him;  fire-building  failed  to  stir 
him;  scrubbing  and  scouring  awoke  no  enthusiasm.  Then 
the  goodwife  touched,  with  a  perishing  hope,  and  rather  as  a 
matter  of  form,  upon  the  subject  of  cooking.  To  her  sur 
prise,  and  her  vast  delight,  the  king's  face  lighted  at  once! 


07  THB 


172  THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   PEASANTS. 

Ah,  she  had  hunted  him  down  at  last,  she  thought;  and  she 
was  right  proud  too,  of  the  devious  shrewdness  and  tact  which 
had  accomplished  it. 

Her  tired  tongue  got  a  chance  to  rest,  now;  for  the  king's, 
inspired  by  gnawing  hunger  and  the  fragrant  smells  that  came 
from  the  sputtering  pots  and  pans,  turned  itself  loose  and 
delivered  itself  up  to  such  an  eloquent  dissertation  upon  cer 
tain  toothsome  dishes,  that  within  three  minutes  the  woman 
said  to  herself,  "  Of  a  truth  I  was  right — he  hath  holpen  in  a 
kitchen  !  "  Then  he  broadened  his  bill  of  fare,  and  discussed 
it  with  such  appreciation  and  animation,  that  the  goodwife 
said  to  herself,  "Good  lack!  how  can  he  know  so  many 
dishes,  and  so  fine  ones  withal  ?  For  these  belong  only  upon 
the  tables  of  the  rich  and  great.  Ah,  now  I  see  !  ragged  out 
cast  as  he  is,  he  must  have  served  in  the  palace  before  his 
reason  went  astray;  yes,  he  must  have  helped  in  the  very 
kitchen  of  the  king  himself !  I  will  test  him." 

Full  of  eagerness  to  prove  her  sagacity,  she  told  the  king 
to  mind  the  cooking  a  moment — hinting  that  he  might  manu 
facture  and  add  a  dish  or  two,  if  he  chose — then  she  went 
out  of  the  room  and  gave  her  children  a  sign  to  follow  after. 
The  king  muttered— 

"  Another  English  king  had  a  commission  like  to  this,  in  a 
bygone  time — it  is  nothing  against  my  dignity  to  undertake 
an  office  which  the  great  Alfred  stooped  to  assume.  But  I 
will  try  to  better  serve  my  trust  than  he;  for  he  let  the  cakes 
burn." 

The  intent  was  good,  but  the  performance  was  not  answer 
able  to  it;  for  this  king,  like  the  other  one,  soon  fell  into 
deep  thinkings  concerning  his  vast  affairs,  and  the  same 
calamity  resulted — the  cookery  got  burned.  The  woman  re 
turned  in  time  to  save  the  breakfast  from  entire  destruction; 
and  she  promptly  brought  the  king  out  of  his  dreams  with  a 
brisk  and  cordial  tongue-lashing.  Then,  seeing  how  troubled 


THE   PRINCE   WITH   THE   PEASANTS.  1/3 

he  was,  over  his  violated  trust,  she  softened  at  once  and  was 
all  goodness  and  gentleness  toward  him. 

The  boy  made  a  hearty  and  satisfying  meal,  and  was  greatly 
refreshed  and  gladdened  by  it.  It  was  a  meal  which  was  dis 
tinguished  by  this  curious  feature,  that  rank  was  waived  on 
both  sides;  yet  neither  recipient  of  the  favor  was  aware  that 
it  had  been  extended.  The  goodwife  had  intended  to  feed 
this  young  tramp  with  broken  victuals  in  a  corner,  like  any 
other  tramp,  or  like  a  dog;  but  she  was  so  remorseful  for  the 
scolding  she  had  given  him,  that  she  did  what  she  could  to 
atone  for  it  by  allowing  him  to  sit  at  the  family  table  and  eat 
with  his  betters,  on  ostensible  terms  of  equality  with  them; 
and  the  king,  on  his  side,  was  so  remorseful  for  having  broken 
his  trust,  after  the  family  had  been  so  kind  to  him,  that  he 
forced  himself  to  atone  for  it  by  humbling  himself  to  the 
family  level,  instead  of  requiring  the  woman  and  her  children 
to  stand  and  wait  upon  him  while  he  occupied  their  table  in 
the  solitary  state  due  his  birth  and  dignity.  It  does  us  all 
good  to  unbend  sometimes.  This  good  woman  was  made 
happy  all  the  daylong  by  the  applauses  she  got  out  of  herself 
for  her  magnanimous  condescension  to  a  tramp;  and  the  king 
was  just  as  self-complacent  over  his  gracious  humility  toward 
a  humble  peasant  woman. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  the  housewife  told  the  king  to 
wash  up  the  dishes.  This  command  was  a  staggerer,  for  a 
moment,  and  the  king  came  near  rebelling;  but  then  he  said 
to  himself,  "  Alfred  the  Great  watched  the  cakes;  doubtless 
he  would  have  washed  the  dishes,  too — therefore  will  I 
essay  it." 

He  made  a  sufficiently  poor  job  of  it;  and  to  his  surprise, 
too,  for  the  cleaning  of  wooden  spoons  and  trenchers  had 
seemed  an  easy  thing  to  do.  It  was  a  tedious  and  trouble 
some  piece  of  work,  but  he  finished  it  at  last.  He  was  be 
coming  impatient  to  get  away  on  his  journey  now;  however, 


1/4 


THE    PRINCE   WITH   THE    PEASANTS. 


he  was  not  to  lose  this  thrifty  dame's  society  so  easily.  She 
furnished  him  some  little  odds  and  ends  of  employment,  which 
he  got  through  with  after  a  fair  fashion  and  with  some  credit. 
Then  she  set  him  and  the  little  girls  to  paring  some  winter 
apples;  but  he  was  so  awkward  at  this  service,  that  she  re 
tired  htm  from  it  and 
gave  him  a  butcher 
knife  to  grind.  After 
ward  she  kept  him 
carding  wool  until  he 
began  to  think  he  had 
laid  the  good  King 
Alfred  about  far 
enough  in  the  shade 
for  the  present,  in  the 
matter  of  showy  menial 
heroisms  that  would 
read  picturesquely  in 
story-books  and  his 
tories,  and  so  he  was 
half  minded  to  resign. 
And  when,  just  after 
the  noonday  dinner, 
the  good  wife  gave  him 
a  basket  of  kittens  to 
drown,  he  did  resign. 
At  least  he  was  just 
going  to  resign  —  for 

he  felt  that  he  must  draw  the  line  somewhere,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  to  draw  it  at  kitten-drowning  was  about  the 
right  thing — when  there  was  an  interruption.  The  interrup 
tion  was  John  Canty — with  a  peddler's  pack  on  his  back— 
and  Hugo  ! 

The  King  discovered  these   rascals  approaching  the  front 


GAVE    HIM    A    BUTCHER    KNIFE 
TO    GRIND." 


THE    PRINCE   WITH   THE   PEASANTS.  175 

gate  before  they  had  had  a  chance  to  see  him ;  so  he  said  nothing 
about  drawing  the  line,  but  took  up  his  basket  of  kittens  and 
stepped  quietly  out  the  back  way,  without  a  word.  He  left 
the  creatures  in  an  outhouse,  and  hurried  on,  into  a  narrow 
lane  at  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    PRINCE    AND    THE    HERMIT. 

THE  high  hedge  hid  him  from  the  house,  now;  and  so, 
under  the  impulse  of  a  deadly  fright,  he  let  out  all  his  forces 
and  sped  toward  a  wood  in  the  distance.  He  never  looked 
back  until  he  had  almost  gained  the  shelter  of  the  forest; 
then  he  turned  and  descried  two  figures  in  the  distance. 
That  was  sufficient;  he  did  not  wait  to  scan  them  critically, 
but  hurried  on,  and  never  abated  his  pace  till  he  was  far 
within  the  twilight  depths  of  the  wood.  Then  he  stopped; 
being  persuaded  that  he  was  now  tolerably  safe.  He  listen 
ed  intently,  but  the  stillness  was  profound  and  solemn- 
awful,  even,  and  depressing  to  the  spirits.  At  wide  intervals 
his  straining  ear  did  detect  sounds,  but  they  were  so  remote, 
and  hollow,  and  mysterious,  that  they  seemed  not  to  be  real 
sounds,  but  only  the  moaning  and  complaining  ghosts  of  de 
parted  ones.  So  the  sounds  were  yet  more  dreary  than  the 
silence  which  they  interrupted. 

It  was  his  purpose,  in  the  beginning,  to  stay  where  he  was, 
the  rest  of  the  day;  but  a  chill  soon  invaded  his  perspiring 
body,  and  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  resume  movement  in  order 
to  get  warm.  He  struck  straight  through  the  forest,  hoping 
to  pierce  to  a  road  presently,  but  he  was  disappointed  in  this. 
He  travelled  on  and  on;  but  the  farther  he  went,  the  denser 
the  wood  became,  apparently.  The  gloom  began  to  thicken, 
by  and  by,  and  the  king  realized  that  the  night  was  coining 
on.  It  made  him  shudder  to  think  of  spending  it  in  such  an 
uncanny  place;  so  he  tried  to  hurry  faster,  but  he  only  made 


THE   PRINCE   AND   THE    HERMIT.  1/7 

the  less  speed,  for  he  could  not  now  see  well  enough  to 
choose  his  steps  judiciously;  consequently  he  kept  tripping 
over  roots  and  tangling  himself  in  vines  and  briers. 

And  how  glad  he  was  when  at  last  he  caught  the  glimmer 
of  a  light !  He  approached  it  warily,  stopping  often  to  look 
about  him  and  listen.  It  came  from  an  unglazed  window- 
opening  in  a  little  hut.  He  heard  a  voice,  now,  and  felt  a 
disposition  to  run  and  hide;  but  he  changed  his  mind  at 
once,  for  this  voice  was  praying,  evidently.  He  glided  to 
the  one  window  of  the  hut,  raised  himself  on  tip-toe,  and 
stole  a  glance  within.  The  room  was  small;  its  floor  was  the 
natural  earth,  beaten  hard  by  use;  in  a  corner  was  a  bed 
of  rushes  and  a  ragged  blanket  or  two;  near  it  was  a  pail,  a 
cup,  a  basin,  and  two  or  three  pots  and  pans;  there  was  a 
short  bench  and  a  three-legged  stool;  on  the  hearth  the  re 
mains  of  a  fagot  fire  were  smouldering  ;  before  a  shrine, 
which  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  knelt  an  aged  man,  and 
on  an  old  wooden  box  at  his  side,  lay  an  open  book  and  a 
human  skull.  The  man  was  of  large,  bony  frame;  his  hair 
and  whiskers  were  very  long  and  snowy  white;  he  was  cloth 
ed  in  a  robe  of  sheepskins  which  reached  from  his  neck  to 
his  heels. 

"  A  holy  hermit !  "  said  the  king  to  himself;  "  now  am  I 
indeed  fortunate." 

The  hermit  rose  from  his  knees;  the  king  knocked.  A 
deep  voice  responded — 

"  Enter  ! — but  leave  sin  behind,  for  the  ground  whereon 
thou  shalt  stand  is  holy  !  " 

The  king  entered,  and  paused.  The  hermit  turned  a  pair 
of  gleaming,  unrestful  eyes  upon  him,  and  said — 

"Who  art  thou?" 

"  I  am  the  king,"  came  the  answer,  with  placid  simplicity. 

"Welcome,  king!"  cried  the  hermit,  with  enthusiasm. 
Then,  bustling  about  with  feverish  activity,  and  constantly 


THE    PRINCE   AND    THE    HERMIT. 


saying  "  Welcome,  welcome,"  he  arranged  his  bench,  seated 
the  king  on  it,  by  the  hearth,  threw  some   fagots  on  the  fire, 
and  finally  fell  to  pacing  the  floor,  with  a  nervous  stride. 
"  Welcome  !     Many  have  sought  sanctuary  here,  but  they 

were  not  worthy, 
/  -^  and  were    turned 

away.  But  a  king 
who  casts  his  crown 
away,  and  despises 
the  vain  splendors  of 
his  office,  and  clothes 
his  body  in  rags,  to 
devote  his  life  to 
holiness  and  the 
mortification  of  the 
flesh — he  is  worthy, 
he  is  welcome  !  — 
fiere  shall  he  abide 
all  his  days  till  death 
com  e."  The  king 
hastened  to  interrupt 
and  explain,  but  the 
hermit  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  him — did  not 
even  hear  him,  ap 
parently,  but  went 
right  on  with  his 
talk,  with  a  raised 
voice  and  a  growing 
energy.  "  And  thou 
shalt  be  at  peace 

here.  None  shall  find  out  thy  refuge  to  disquiet  thee  with 
supplications  to  return  to  that  empty  and  foolish  life  which 
God  hath  moved  thee  to  abandon.  Thou  shalt  pray,  here; 


1    WILL   TELL    YOU   A    SECRET. 


THE   PRINCE   AND   THE   HERMIT. 

thou  shalt  study  the  Book;  thou  shalt  meditate  upon  the  fol 
lies  and  delusions  of  this  world,  and  upon  the  sublimities  of 
the  world  to  come;  thou  shalt  feed  upon  crusts  and  herbs, 
and  scourge  thy  body  with  whips,  daily,  to  the  purifying  of 
thy  soul.  Thou  shalt  wear  a  hair  shirt  next  thy  skin;  thou 
shalt  drink  water,  only;  and  thou  shalt  be  at  peace;  yes, 
wholly  at  peace;  for  whoso  comes  to  seek  thee  shall  go  his 
way  again,  baffled;  he  shall  not  find  thee,  he  shall  not  molest 
thee." 

The  old  man,  still  pacing  back  and  forth,  ceased  to  speak 
aloud,  and  began  to  mutter.  The  king  seized  this  op 
portunity  to  state  his  case;  and  he  did  it  with  an  eloquence 
inspired  by  uneasiness  and  apprehension.  But  the  hermit 
went  on  muttering,  and  gave  no  heed.  And  still  muttering, 
he  approached  the  king  and  said,  impressively — 

"'Sh  !  I  will  tell  you  a  secret  !  "  He  bent  down  to  im 
part  it,  but  checked  himself,  and  assumed  a  listening  attitude. 
After  a  moment  or  two  he  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  window- 
opening,  put  his  head  out  and  peered  around  in  the  gloaming, 
then  came  tiptoeing  back  again,  put  his  face  close  down  to 
the  king's,  and  whispered — 

"I  am  an  archangel  !  " 

The  king  started  violently,  and  said  to  himself,  "  Would 
God  I  were  with  the  outlaws  again;  for  lo,  now  am  I  the 
prisoner  of  a  madman  !  "  His  apprehensions  were  heightened, 
and  they  showed  plainly  in  his  face.  In  a  low,  excited  voice, 
the  hermit  continued — 

"I  see  you  feel  my  atmosphere  !  There's  awe  in  your 
face  !  None  may  be  in  this  atmosphere  and  not  be  thus  af 
fected;  for  it  is  the  very  atmosphere  of  heaven.  I  go  thither 
and  return,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I  was  made  an  arch 
angel  on  this  very  spot,  it  is  five  years  ago,  by  angels  sent 
from  heaven  to  confer  that  awful  dignity.  Their  presence 
filled  this  place  with  an  intolerable  brightness.  And  they 


180  THE   PRINCE   AND   THE   HERMIT. 

knelt  to  me,  king  !  yes,  they  knelt  to  me  !  for  I  was  greater 
than  they.  I  have  walked  in  the  courts  of  heaven,  and  held 
speech  with  the  patriarchs.  Touch  my  hand — be  not  afraid — 
touch  it.  There — now  thou  hast  touched  a  hand  which  has 
been  clasped  by  Abraham,  and  Isaac  and  Jacob  !  For  I  have 
walked  in  the  golden  courts,  I  have  seen  the  Deity  face  to 
face  !"  He  paused,  to  give  this  speech  effect;  then  his  face 
suddenly  changed,  and  he  started  to  his  feet  again,  saying, 
with  angry  energy,  "Yes,  I  am  an  archangel;  a  mere  arch 
angel ! — I  that  might  have  been  pope  !  It  is  verily  true.  I 
was  told  it  from  heaven  in  a  dream,  twenty  years  ago;  ah, 
yes,  I  was  to  be  pope  !  — and  I  should  have  been  pope,  for 
Heaven  had  said  it — but  the  king  dissolved  my  religious 
house,  and  I,  poor  obscure  unfriended  monk,  was  cast  home 
less  upon  the  world,  robbed  of  my  mighty  destiny  !  "  Here 
he  began  to  mumble  again,  and  beat  his  forehead  in  futile 
rage,  with  his  fist;  now  and  then  articulating  a  venomous 
curse,  and  now  and  then  a  pathetic  "  Wherefore  I  am  nought 
but  an  archangel — I  that  should  have  been  pope  !  " 

So  he  went  on,  for  an  hour,  whilst  the  poor  little  king  sat 
and  suffered.  Then  all  at  once  the  old  man's  frenzy  departed, 
and  he  became  all  gentleness.  His  voice  softened,  he  came 
down  out  of  his  clouds,  and  fell  to  prattling  along  so  simply 
and  so  humanely,  that  he  soon  won  the  king's  heart  completely. 
The  old  devotee  moved  the  boy  nearer  to  the  fire  and  made 
him  comfortable;  doctored  his  small  bruises  and  abrasions 
with  a  deft  and  tender  hand;  and  then  set  about  preparing 
and  cooking  a  supper — chatting  pleasantly  all  the  time,  and 
occasionally  stroking  the  lad's  cheek  or  patting  his  head,  in 
such  a  gently  caressing  way  that  in  a  little  while  all  the 
fear  and  repulsion  inspired  by  the  archangel  were  changed  to 
reverence  and  affection  for  the  man. 

This  happy  state  of  things  continued  while  the  two  ate  the 
supper;  then,  after  a  prayer  before  the  shrine,  the  hermit  put 


THE   PRINCE   AND   THE   HERMIT.  l8l 

the  boy  to  bed,  in  a  small  adjoining  room,  tucking  him  in  as 
snugly  and  lovingly  as  a  mother  might;  and  so,  with  a  parting 
caress,  left  him  and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  began  to  poke 
the  brands  about  in  an  absent  and  aimless  way.  Presently 
he  paused;  then  tapped  his  forehead  several  times  with  his 
fingers,  as  if  trying  to  recall  some  thought  which  had  escaped 
from  his  mind.  Apparently  he  was  unsuccessful.  Now  he 
started  quickly  up,  and  entered  his  guest's  room,  and  said — 

"Thou  art  king?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  response,  drowsily  uttered. 

"What  king?" 

"Of  England." 

"  Of  England  !     Then  Henry  is  gone  ! " 

"Alack,  it  is  so.     I  am  his  son." 

A  black  frown  settled  down  upon  the  hermit's  face,  and  he 
clenched  his  bony  hands  with  a  vindictive  energy.  He  stood 
a  few  moments,  breathing  fast  and  swallowing  repeatedly, 
then  said  in  a  husky  voice — 

"  Dost  know  it  was  he  that  turned  us  out  into  the  world 
houseless  and  homeless  ?  " 

There  was  no  response.  The  old  man  bent  down  and 
scanned  the  boy's  reposeful  face  and  listened  to  his  placid 
breathing.  "  He  sleeps — sleeps  soundly;"  and  the  frown 
vanished  away  and  gave  place  to  an  expression  of  evil  satis 
faction.  A  smile  flitted  across  the  dreaming  boy's  features. 
The  hermit  muttered,  "  So — his  heart  is  happy;"  and  he  turned 
away.  He  went  stealthily  about  the  place,  seeking  here  and 
there  for  something;  now  and  then  halting  to  listen,  now  and 
then  jerking  his  head  around  and  casting  a  quick  glance 
toward  the  bed;  and  always  muttering,  always  mumbling  to 
himself.  At  last  he  found  what  he  seemed  to  want — a  rusty 
old  butcher  knife  and  a  whetstone.  Then  he  crept  to  his 
place  by  the  fire,  sat  himself  down,  and  began  to  whet  the 
knife  softly  on  the  stone,  still  muttering,  mumbling,  ejaculat- 


182  THE   PRINCE    AND   THE    HERMIT. 

ing.  The  winds  sighed  around  the  lonely  place,  the  mysterious 
voices  of  the  night  floated  by  out  of  the  distances.  The 
shining  eyes  of  venturesome  mice  and  rats  peered  out  at  the 
old  man  from  cracks  and  coverts,  but  he  went  on  with  his 
work,  rapt  absorbed,  and  noted  none  of  these  things. 

At  long  intervals  he  drew  his  thumb  along  the  edge  of  his 
knife,  and  nodded  his  head  with  satisfaction.  "  It  grows 
sharper,"  he  said;  u  yes,  it  grows  sharper." 

He  took  no  note  of  the  flight  of  time,  but  worked  tranquilly 
on,  entertaining  himself  with  his  thoughts,  which  broke  out 
occasionally  in  articulate  speech: 

"  His  father  wrought  us  evil,  he  destroyed  us — and  is  gone 
down  into  the  eternal  fires  !  Yes,  down  into  the  eternal  fires  ! 
He  escaped  us — but  it  was  God's  will,  yes  it  was  God's  will, 
we  must  not  repine.  But  he  hath  not  escaped  the  fires  !  no, 
he  hath  not  escaped  the  fires,  the  consuming,  unpitying,  re 
morseless  fires — and  they  are  everlasting  !  " 

And  so  he  wrought;  and  still  wrought;  mumbling — chuck 
ling  a  low  rasping  chuckle,  at  times — and  at  times  breaking 
again  into  words: 

"  It  was  his  father  that  did  it  all.  I  am  but  an  archangel 
— but  for  him,  I  should  be  pope  !  " 

The  king  stirred.  The  hermit  sprang  noiselessly  to  the 
bedside,  and  went  down  upon  his  knees,  bending  over  the 
prostrate  form  with  his  knife  uplifted.  The  boy  stirred  again; 
his  eyes  came  open  for  an  instant,  but  there  was  no  specula 
tion  in  them,  they  saw  nothing;  the  next  moment  his  tran 
quil  breathing  showed  that  his  sleep  was  sound  once  more. 

The  hermit  watched  and  listened,  for  a  time,  keeping  his 
position  and  scarcely  breathing;  then  he  slowly  lowered  his 
arm,  and  presently  crept  away,  saying, — 

"  It  is  long  past  midnight — it  is  not  best  that  he  should  cry 
out,  lest  by  accident  some  one  be  passing." 

He  glided  about  his  hovel,  gathering  a  rag  here,  a  thong 


THE    PRINCE    AND   THE    HERMIT. 


183 


there,  and  another  one  yonder;  then  he  returned,  and  by  care 
ful  and  gentle  handling,  he  managed  to  tie  the  king's  ankles 
together  without  waking  him.  Next  he  essayed  to  tie  the 
wrists;  he  made  several  attempts  to  cross  them,  but  the  boy 
always  drew  one  hand  or  the  other  away,  just  as  the  cord  was 
ready  to  be  applied;  but  at  last,  when  the  archangel  was  al- 


"  THE    NEXT   MOMENT   THEY    WERE   BOUND." 

most  ready  to  despair,  the  boy  crossed  his  hands  himself, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  bound.  Now  a  bandage  was 
passed  under  the  sleeper's  chin  and  brought  up  over  his  head 
and  tied  fast — and  so  softly,  so  gradually,  and  so  deftly  were 
the  knots  drawn  together  and  compacted,  that  the  boy  slept 
peacefully  through  it  all  without  stirring. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HENDON    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

THE  old  man  glided  away,  stooping,  stealthily,  cat-like,  and 
brought  the  low  bench.  He  seated  himself  upon  it,  half,  his 
body  in  the  dim  and  flickering  light,  and  the  other  half  in 
shadow;  and  so,  with  his  craving  eyes  bent  upon  the  slum 
bering  boy,  he  kept  his  patient  vigil  there,  heedless  of  the 
drift  of  time,  and  softly  whetted  his  knife,  and  mumbled  and 
chuckled;  and  in  aspect  and  attitude  he  resembled  nothing 
so  much  as  a  grizzly,  monstrous  spider,  gloating  over  some 
hapless  insect  that  lay  bound  and  helpless  in  his  web. 

After  a  long  while,  the  old  man,  who  was  still  gazing, — 
yet  not  seeing,  his  mind  having  settled  into  a  dreamy  ab 
straction, —  observed  on  a  sudden,  that  the  boy's  eyes  were 
open — wide  open  and  staring  !— staring  up  in  frozen  horror 
at  the  knife.  The  smile  of  a  gratified  devil  crept  over  the 
old  man's  face,  and  he  said,  without  changing  his  attitude  or 
his  occupation — 

"Son  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  hast  thou  prayed  ?" 
The  boy  struggled  helplessly  in  his  bonds;  and  at  the  same 
time  forced  a    smothered    sound    through  his  closed  jaws, 
which  the  hermit  chose  to  interpret  as  an  affirmative  answer 
to  his  question. 

"  Then  pray  again.     Pray  the  prayer  for  the  dying  !  " 
A  shudder  shook  the  boy's  frame,  and   his  face  blenched. 
Then  he  struggled  again  to  free  himself — turning  and   twist 
ing  himself  this  way  and  that;  tugging  frantically,  fiercely, 
desperately — but  uselessly — to  burst  his  fetters:  and  all  the 


HENDON   TO  THE   RESCUE. 


I85 


while  the  old  ogre  smiled  down  upon  him,  and  nodded  his 
head,  and  placidly  whetted  his  knife;  mumbling,  from  time 
to  time.  "  The  moments  are  precious,  they  are  few  and 
precious — pray  the  prayer  for  the  dying  !  " 

The  boy  uttered  a  despairing  groan,  and  ceased  from  his 
struggles,  panting.     The  tears  came,  then,  and  trickled,  one 

after  the  other,  down  his  face;  but 
this  piteous  sight  wrought  no  soft- 

r  ^:M£F      ening  effect   upon  the   savage  old 

man. 

The  dawn  was  coming, 
now;  the  hermit  observed 
it,  and   spoke   up  sharply, 
with  a  touch  of  nervous 
apprehension    in  his 
voice — : 

"  I  may  not  in- 
-  — dulge  this  ecstasy 
longer!  The 
night  is  already 
gone.  It  seems 
but  a  moment — 
only  a  moment ; 
would  it  had  en 
dured  a  year! 

"  HE  SUNK  UPON  HIS  KNEES,   HIS  KNIFE  IN  HAND."    Seed      of       the 

Church  's  spoiler, 

close  thy  perishing  eyes,  an'  thou  fearest  to  look  upon  "... 
The  rest  was  lost  in  inarticulate  mutterings.     The  old  man 
sunk  upon  his  knees,  his  knife  in  his  hand,  and  bent  himself 
over  the  moaning  boy- 
Hark  !     There  was  a  sound  of  voices  near  the  cabin — the 
knife  dropped  from  the  hermit's  hand;  he  cast  a  sheepskin 
over  the   boy  and  started    up,  trembling.     The    sounds  in- 


186  HENDON   TO   THE   RESCUE. 

creased,  and  presently  the  voices  became  rough  and  angry; 
then  came  blows,  and  cries  for  help;  then  a  clatter  of  swift 
footsteps,  retreating.  Immediately  came  a  succession  of 
thundering  knocks  upon  the  cabin  door,  followed  by— 

"  Hullo-o-o  !  Open  !  And  despatch,  in  the  name  of  all 
the  devils  !  " 

O,  this  was  the  blessedest  sound  that  had  ever  made 
music  in  the  king's  ears;  for  it  was  Miles  Hendon's  voice  ! 

The  hermit,  grinding  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage,  moved 
swiftly  out  of  the  bedchamber,  closing  the  door  behind  him; 
and  straightway  the  king  heard  a  talk,  to  this  effect,  proceed 
ing  from  the  "  chapel:  " 

"  Homage  and  greeting,  reverend  sir  !  Where  is  the  boy 
— my  boy  ?" 

"What  boy,  friend?" 

"What  boy  !  Lie  me  no  lies,  sir  priest,  play  me  no  de 
ceptions  ! — I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  it.  Near  to  this  place 
I  caught  the  scoundrels  who  I  judged  did  steal  him  from  me, 
and  I  made  them  confess;  they  said  he  was  at  Targe  again, 
and  they  had  tracked  him  to  your  door.  They  showed  me 
his  very  footprints.  Now  palter  no  more;  for  look  you, 
holy  sir,  an'  thou  produce  him  not —  Where  is  the  boy  ? " 

"  O>  good  sir,  peradventure  you  mean  the  ragged  regal 
vagrant  that  tarried  here  the  night.  If  such  as  you  take  in 
terest  in  such  as  he,  know,  then,  that  I  have  sent  him  of  an 
errand.  He  will  be  back  anon." 

"  How  soon  ?  How  soon  ?  Come,  waste  not  the  time — 
cannot  I  overtake  him?  How  soon  will  he  be  back  ?" 

"  Thou  needst  not  stir;  he  will  return  quickly." 

"  So  be  it  then.  I  will  try  to  wait.  But  stop  !— you  sent 
him  of  an  errand  ? — you  !  Verily,  this  is  a  lie — he  would 
not  go.  He  would  pull  thy  old  beard,  an'  thou  didst  offer 
him  such  an  insolence.  Thou  hast  lied,  friend;  thou  hast 
surely  lied  !  He  would  not  go  for  thee  nor  for  any  man." 


HENDON   TO   THE   RESCUE.  187 

"  For  any  man—no',  haply  not.     But  I  am  not  a  man." 

"  What!     Now  o'  God's  name  what  art  thou,  then  ?" 

"  It  is  a  secret — mark  thou  reveal  it  not.  I  am  an  arch 
angel  ! " 

There  was  a  tremendous  ejaculation  from  Miles  Hendon — 
not  altogether  unprofane — followed  by — 

"  This  doth  well  and  truly  account  for  his  complaisance  ! 
Right  well  I  knew  he  would  budge  nor  hand  nor  foot  in  the 
menial  service  of  any  mortal;  but  lord,  even  a  king  must 
obey  when  an  archangel  gives  the  word  o'  command  !  Let 
me — 'sh  !  What  noise  was  that  ?" 

All  this  while  the  king  had  been  yonder,  alternately  quaking 
with  terror  and  trembling  with  hope;  and  all  the  while,  too, 
he  had  thrown  all  the  strength  he  could  into  his  anguished 
meanings,  constantly  expecting  them  to  reach  Hendon's 
ear,  but  always  realizing,  with  bitterness,  that  they  failed,  or 
at  least  made  no  impression.  So  this  last  remark  of  his 
servant  came  as  comes  a  reviving  breath  from  fresh  fields  to 
the  dying;  and  he  exerted  himself  once  more,  and  with  all 
his  energy,  just  as  the  hermit  was  saying — 

"  Noise  ?     I  heard  only  the  wind." 

"  Mayhap  it  was.  Yes,  doubtless  that  was  it.  I  have 
been  hearing  it  faintly  all  the — there  it  is  again  !  It  is  not 
the  wind !  What  an  odd  sound  !  Come,  we  will  hunt  it  out  !  " 

Now  the  king's  joy  was  nearly  insupportable.  His  tired 
lungs  did  their  utmost — and  hopefully,  too — but  the  sealed 
jaws  and  the  muffling  sheepskin  sadly  crippled  the  effort. 
Then  the  poor  fellow's  heart  sank,  to  hear  the  hermit  say — 

"  Ah,  it  came  from  without— I  think  from  the  copse  yon 
der.  Come,  I  will  lead  the  way." 

The  king  heard  the  two  pass  out,  talking;  heard  their  foot 
steps  die  quickly  away — then  he  was  alone  with  a  boding, 
brooding,  awful  silence. 

It  seemed  an  age  till  he  heard  the  steps  and  voices  ap- 


188  HENDON    TO   THE    RESCUE. 

preaching  again — and  this  time  he  heard  an  added  sound — the 
trampling  of  hoofs,  apparently.  Then  he  heard  Hendon  say— 

"  I  will  not  wait  longer.  I  cannot  wait  longer.  He  has 
lost  his  way  in  this  thick  wood.  Which  direction  took  he  ? 
Quick — point  it  out  to  me." 

"  He — but  wait;  I  will  go  with  thee." 

"  Good — good  !  Why,  truly  thou  art  better  than  thy 
looks.  Marry  I  do  think  there's  not  another  archangel  with  so 
right  a  heart  as  thine.  Wilt  ride  ?  Wilt  take  the  wee  don 
key  that's  for  my  boy,  or  wilt  thou  fork  thy  holy  legs  over 
this  ill-conditioned  slave  of  a  mule  that  I  have  provided  for 
myself  ? — and  had  been  cheated  in,  too,  had  he  cost  but  the 
indifferent  sum  of  a  month's  usury  on  a  brass  farthing  let  to 
a  tinker  out  of  work." 

"  No — ride  thy  mule,  and  lead  thine  ass;  I  am  surer  on 
mine  own  feet,  and  will  walk." 

"  Then  prithee  mind  the  little  beast  for  me  while  I  take  my 
life  in  my  hands  and  make  what  success  I  may  toward 
mounting  the  big  one." 

Then  followed  a  confusion  of  kicks,  cuffs,  tramplings  and 
plungings,  accompanied  by  a  thunderous  intermingling  of 
volleyed  curses,  and  finally  a  bitter  apostrophe  to  the  mule, 
which  must  have  broken  its  spirit,  for  hostilities  seemed  to 
cease  from  that  moment. 

With  unutterable  misery  the  fettered  little  king  heard  the 
voices  and  footsteps  fade  away  and  die  out.  All  hope  for 
sook  him,  now,  for  the  moment,  and  a  dull  despair  settled 
down  upon  his  heart.  "  My  only  friend  is  deceived  and  got 
rid  of,"  he  said;  "  the  hermit  will  return  and  " —  He  finished 
with  a  gasp;  and  at  once  fell  to  struggling  so  frantically 
with  his  bonds  again,  that  he  shook  off  the  smothering  sheep 
skin. 

And  now  he  heard  the  door  open  !  The  sound  chilled  him 
to  the  marrow — already  he  seemed  to  feel  the  knife  at  his 


HENDON   TO   THE   RESCUE.  189 

throat.  Horror  made  him  close  his  eyes;  horror  made  him 
open  them  again — and  before  him  stood  John  Canty  and 
Hugo! 

He  would  have  said  "  Thank  God  !  "  if  his  jaws  had  been 
free. 

A  moment  or  two  later  his  limbs  were  at  liberty,  and  his 
captors  each  gripping  him  by  an  arm,  were  hurrying  him 
with  all  speed  through  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    VICTIM    OF    TREACHERY. 

ONCE  more  "King  Foo-Foo  the  First"  was  roving  with 
the  tramps  and  outlaws,  a  butt  for  their  coarse  jests  and 
dull-witted  railleries,  and  sometimes  the  victim  of  small 
spitefulnesses  at  the  hands  of  Canty  and  Hugo  when  the 
Ruffler's  back  was  turned.  None  but  Canty  and  Hugo  really 
disliked  him.  Some  of  the  others  liked  him,  and  all  admired 
his  pluck  and  spirit.  During  two  or  three  days,  Hugo,  in 
whose  ward  and  charge  the  king  was,  did  what  he  covertly 
could  to  make  the  boy  uncomfortable;  and  at  night,  during 
the  customary  orgies,  he  amused  the  company  by  putting 
small  indignities  upon  him — always  as  if  by  accident.  Twice 
he  stepped  upon  the  king's  toes — accidentally — and  the  king, 
as  became  his  royalty,  was  contemptuously  unconscious  of 
it  and  indifferent  to  it;  but  the  third  time  Hugo  entertained 
himself  in  that  way,  the  king  felled  him  to  the  ground  with 
a  cudgel,  to  the  prodigious  delight  of  the  tribe.  Hugo,  con 
sumed  with  anger  and  shame,  sprang  up,  seized  a  cudgel, 
and  came  at  his  small  adversary  in  a  fury.  Instantly  a  ring 
was  formed  around  the  gladiators,  and  the  betting  and  cheer 
ing  began.  But  poor  Hugo  stood  no  chance  whatever.  His 
frantic  and  lubberly  'prentice-work  found  but  a  poor  market 
for  itself  when  pitted  against  an  arm  which  had  been  trained 
by  the  first  masters  of  Europe  in  single-stick,  quarter-staff, 
and  every  art  and  trick  of  swordsmanship.  The  little  king 
stood,  alert  but  at  graceful  ease,  and  caught  and  turned  aside 
the  thick  rain  of  blows  with  a  facility  and  precision  which  set 

190 


A   VICTIM    OE    TREACHERY.  IQI 

the  motley  on-lookers  wild  with  admiration;  and  every  now 
and  then,  when  his  practised  eye  detected  an  opening,  and  a 
lightning-swift  rap  upon  Hugo's  head  followed  as  a  result, 
the  storm  of  cheers  and  laughter  that  swept  the  place  was 


"HUGO  STOOD  NO  CHANCE." 

something  wonderful  to  hear.  At  the  end  of  fifteen  minutes, 
Hugo,  all  battered,  bruised,  and  the  target  for  a  pitiless  bom 
bardment  of  ridicule,  slunk  from  the  field;  and  the  unscathed 
hero  of  the  fight  was  seized  and  borne  aloft  upon  the  shoul 
ders  of  the  joyous  rabble  to  the  place  of  honor  beside  the 


I92  A   VICTIM    OF   TREACHERY. 

Ruffler,  where  with  vast  ceremony  he  was  crowned  King  of 
the  Game-Cocks ;  his  meaner  title  being  at  the  same  time 
solemnly  cancelled  and  annulled,  and  a  decree,  of  banish 
ment  from  the  gang  pronounced  against  any  who  should 
henceforth  utter  it. 

All  attempts  to  make  the  king  serviceable  to  the  troop  had 
failed.  He  had  stubbornly  refused  to  act;  moreover  he  was 
always  trying  to  escape.  He  had  been  thrust  into  an  un- 
watched  kitchen,  the  first  day  of  his  return;  he  not  only  came 
forth  empty  handed,  but  tried  to  rouse  the  housemates.  He 
was  sent  out  with  a  tinker  to  help  him  at  his  work;  he  would 
not  work;  moreover  he  threatened  the  tinker  with  his  own 
soldering-iron;  and  finally  both  Hugo  and  the  tinker  found 
their  hands  full  with  the  mere  matter  of  keeping  him  from 
getting  away.  He  delivered  the  thunders  of  his  royalty  upon 
the  heads  of  all  who  hampered  his  liberties  or  tried  to  force 
him  to  service..  He  was  sent  out,  in  Hugo's  charge,  in  com 
pany  with  a  slatternly  woman  and  a  diseased  baby,  to  beg; 
but  the  result  was  not  encouraging — he  declined  to  plead  for 
the  mendicants,  or  be  a  party  to  their  cause  in  any  way. 

Thus  several  days  went  by;  and  the  miseries  of  this  tramp 
ing  life,  and  the  weariness  and  sordidness  and  meanness  and 
vulgarity  of  it,  became  gradually  and  steadily  so  intolerable 
to  the  captive  that  he  began  at  last  to  feel  that  his  release 
from  the  hermit's  knife  must  prove  only  a  temporary  respite 
from  death,  at  best. 

But  at  night,  in  his  dreams,  these  things  were  forgotten, 
and  he  was  on  his  throne,  and  master  again.  This,  of  course, 
intensified  the  sufferings  of  the  awakening — so  the  mortifica 
tions  of  each  succeeding  morning  of  the  few  that  passed  be 
tween  his  return  to  bondage  and  the  combat  with  Hugo,  grew 
bitterer  and  bitterer,  and  harder  and  harder  to  bear. 

The  morning  after  that  combat,  Hugo  got  up  with  a  heart 
filled  with  vengeful  purposes  against  the  king.  He  had  two 


A   VICTIM    OF   TREACHERY.  IQ3 

plans,  in  particular.  One  was  to  inflict  upon  the  lad  what 
would  be,  to  his  proud  spirit  and  "  imagined  "  royalty,  a  pe 
culiar  humiliation;  and  if  he  failed  to  accomplish  this,  his 
other  plan  was  to  put  a  crime  of  some  kind  upon  the  king  and 
then  betray  him  into  the  implacable  clutches  of  the  law. 

In  pursuance  of  the  first  plan,  he  proposed  to  put  a 
"clime"  upon  the  king's  leg;  rightly  judging  that  that 
would  morlify  him  to  the  last  and  perfect  degree;  and  as 
soon  as  the  clime  should  operate,  he  meant  to  get  Canty's 
help,  and  force  the  king  to  expose  his  leg  in  the  highway  and 
beg  for  alms.  "Clime  "  was  the  cant  term  for  a  sore,  artifi 
cially  created.  To  make  a  clime,  the  operator  made  a  paste 
or  poultice  of  unslaked  lime,  soap,  and  the  rust  of  old  iron, 
and  spread  it  upon  a  piece  of  leather,  which  was  then  bound 
tightly  upon  the  leg.  This  would  presently  fret  off  the  skin, 
and  make  the  flesh  raw  and  angry-looking;  blood  was  then 
rubbed  upon  the  limb,  which,  being  fully  dried,  took  on  a 
dark  and  repulsive  color.  Then  a  bandage  of  soiled  rags 
was  put  on  in  a  cleverly  careless  way  which  would  allow  the 
hideous  ulcer  to  be  seen  and  move  the  compassion  of  the 
passer-by.* 

Hugo  got  the  help  of  the  tinker  whom  the  king  had  cowed 
with  the  soldering-iron;  they  took  the  boy  out  on  a  tinkering 
tramp,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  camp 
they  threw 'him  down  and  the  tinker  held  him  while  Hugo 
bound  the  poultice  tight  and  fast  upon  his  leg. 

The  king  raged  and  stormed,  and  promised  to  hang  the  two 
the  moment  the  sceptre  was  in  his  hand  again ;  but  they  kept  a 
firm  grip  upon  him  and  enjoyed  his  impotent  struggling  and 
jeered  at  his  threats.  This  continued  until  the  poultice  be 
gan  to  bite;  and  in  no  long  time  its  work  would  have  been 
perfected,  if  there  had  been  no  interruption.  But  there  was; 
for  about  this  time  the  "  slave  "  who  had  made  the  speech 
*  From  "  The  English  Rogue;  "  London,  1665. 


194  A   VICTIM   OF    TREACHERY. 

denouncing  England's  laws,  appeared  on  the  scene  and  put 
an  end  to  the  enterprise,  and  stripped  off  the  poultice  and 
bandage. 

The  king  wanted  to  borrow  his  deliverer's  cudgel  and  warm 
the  jackets  of  the  two  rascals  on  the  spot;  but  the  man  said 
no,  it  would  bring  trouble — leave  the  matter  till  night;  the 
whole  tribe  being  together,  then,  the  outside  world  would  not 
venture  to  interfere  or  interrupt.  He  marched  the  party 
back  to  camp  and  reported  the  affair  to  the  Ruffler,  who  lis 
tened,  pondered,  and  then  decided  that  the  king  should  not 
be  again  detailed  to  beg,  since  it  was  plain  he  was  worthy  of 
something  higher  and  better — wherefore,  on  the  spot  he  pro 
moted  him  from  the  mendicant  rank  and  appointed  him  to 
steal ! 

Hugo  was  overjoyed.  He  had  already  tried  to  make  the 
king  steal,  and  failed;  but  there  would  be  no  more  trouble  of 
that  sort,  now,  for  of  course  the  king  would  not  dream  of  defy 
ing  a  distinct  command  delivered  directly  from  headquarters. 
So  he  planned  a  raid  for  that  very  afternoon,  purposing  to 
get  the  king  in  the  law's  grip  in  the  course  of  it;  and  to  do 
it,  too,  with  such  ingenious  strategy,  that  it  should  seem  to 
be  accidental  and  unintentional;  for  the  King  of  the  Game- 
Cocks  was  popular,  now,  and  the  gang  might  not  deal  over- 
gently  with  an  unpopular  member  who  played  so  serious  a 
treachery  upon  him  as  the  delivering  him  over  to  the  common 
enemy,  the  law. 

Very  well.  All  in  good  time  Hugo  strolled  off  to  a  neigh 
boring  village  with  his  prey;  and  the  two  drifted  slowly  up 
and  down  one  street  after  another,  the  one  watching  sharply 
for  a  sure  chance  to  achieve  his  evil  purpose,  and  the  other 
watching  as  sharply  for  a  chance  to  dart  away  and  get  free  of 
his  infamous  captivity  forever. 

Both  threw  away  some  tolerably  fair-looking  opportunities; 
for  both,  in  their  secret  hearts,  were  resolved  to  make  abso- 


A   VICTIM   OF   TREACHERY.  195 

lutely  sure  work  this  time,  and  neither  meant  to  allow  his 
fevered  desires  to  seduce  him  into  any  venture  that  had  much 
uncertainty  about  it. 

Hugo's  chance  came  first.  For  at  last  a  woman  approached 
who  carried  a  fat  package  of  some  sort  in  a  basket.  Hugo's 
eyes  sparkled  with  sinful  pleasure  as  he  said  to  himself, 
"Breath  o'  my  life,  an'  I  can  but  put  that  upon  him,  'tis 
good-den  and  God  keep  thee,  King  of  the  Game-Cocks! " 
He  waited  and  watched — outwardly  patient,  but  inwardly 
consuming  with  excitement — till  the  woman  had  passed  by, 
and  the  time  was  ripe;  then  said,  in  a  low  voice — "Tarry 
here  till  I  come  again,"  and  darted  stealthily  after  the  prey. 

The  king's  heart  was  filled  with  joy — he  could  make  his 
escape,  now,  if  Hugo's  quest  only  carried  him  far  enough 
away. 

But  he  was  to  have  no  such  luck.  Hugo  crept  behind  the 
woman,  snatched  the  package,  and  came  running  back,  wrap 
ping  it  in  an  old  piece  of  blanket  which  he  carried  on  his  arm. 
The  hue  and  cry  was  raised  in  a  moment,  by  the  woman, 
who  knew  her  loss  by  the  lightening  of  her  burden,  although 
she  had  not  seen  the  pilfering  done.  Hugo  thrust  the  bundle 
into  the  king's  hands  without  halting,  saying,— 

"  Now  speed  ye  after  me  with  the  rest,  and  cry  *  Stop 
thief  ! '  but  mind  ye  lead  them  astray  !" 

The  next  moment  Hugo  turned  a  corner  and  darted  down 
a  crooked  alley, — and  in  another  moment  or  two  he  lounged 
into  view  again,  looking  innocent  and  indifferent,  and  took  up 
a  position  behind  a  post  to  watch  results. 

The  insulted  king  threw  the  bundle  on  the  ground;  and 
the  blanket  fell  away  from  it  just  as  the  woman  arrived,  with 
an  augmenting  crowd  at  her  heels;  she  seized  the  king's  wrist 
with  one  hand,  snatched  up  her  bundle  with  the  other,  and 
began  to  pour  out  a  tirade  of  abuse  upon  the  boy  while  he 
struggled,  without  success,  to  free  himself  from  her  grip. 


196 


A   VICTIM    OF   TREACHERY. 


Hugo  had  seen  enough — his  enemy  was  captured  and  the 
law  would  get  him,  now — so  he  slipped  away,  jubilant  and 
chuckling,  and  wended  campwards,  framing  a  judicious  ver 
sion  of  the  matter  to  give  to  the  Ruffler's  crew  as  he  strode 
along. 

The  king  continued  to  struggle  in  the  woman's  grasp,  and 
now  and  then  cried  out,  in  vexation — 


"THE  KING  SPRANG  TO  HIS  DELIVERER'S  SIDE. 


"  Unhand  me,  thou  foolish  creature;  it  was  not  I  that  be 
reaved  thee  of  thy  paltry  goods." 

The  crowd  closed  around,  threatening  the  king  and  calling 


A   VICTIM    OF   TREACHERY.  197 

him  names;  a  brawny  blacksmith  in  leather  apron,  and  sleeves 
rolled  to  his  elbows,  made  a  reach  for  him,  saying  he  would 
trounce  him  well,  for  a  lesson;  but  just  then  a  long  sword 
flashed  in  the  air  and  fell  with  convincing  force  upon  the 
man's  arm,  flat-side  down,  the  fantastic  owner  of  it  remarking 
pleasantly  at  the  same  time — 

"  Marry,  good  souls,  let  us  proceed  gently,  not  with  ill 
blood  and  uncharitable  words.  This  is  matter  for  the  law's 
consideration,  not  private  and  unofficial  handling.  Loose 
thy  hold  from  the  boy,  good-wife." 

The  blacksmith  averaged  the  stalwart  soldier  with  a  glance, 
then  went  muttering  away,  rubbing  his  arm;  the  woman  re 
leased  the  boy's  wrist  reluctantly;  the  crowd  eyed  the 
stranger  unlovingly,  but  prudently  closed  their  mouths.  The 
king  sprang  to  his  deliverer's  side,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
sparkling  eyes,  exclaiming — 

"  Thou  hast  lagged  sorely,  but  thou  comest  in  good  season, 
now,  Sir  Miles;  carve  me  this  rabble  to  rags!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    PRINCE    A    PRISONER. 

HENDON  forced  back  a  smile,  and  bent  down  and  whis 
pered  in  the  king's  ear — 

4 'Softly,  softly,  my  prince,  wag  thy  tongue  warily — nay, 
suffer  it  not  to  wag  at  all.  Trust  in  me — all  shall  go  well  in 
the  end."  Then  he  added,  to  himself  :  "  Sir  Miles  !  Bless 
me,  I  had  totally  forgot  I  was  a  knight  !  Lord  how  marvel 
lous  a  thing  it  is,  the  grip  his  memory  doth  take  upon  his 
quaint  and  crazy  fancies  !  .  .  .  An  empty  and  foolish  title 
is  mine,  and  yet  it  is  something  to  have  deserved  it,  for  I 
think  it  is  more  honor  to  be  held  worthy  to  be  a  spectre- 
knight  in  his  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows,  than  to  be 
held  base  enough  to  be  an  earl  in  some  of  the  real  kingdoms 
of  this  world." 

The  crowd  fell  apart  to  admit  a  constable,  who  approached 
and  was  about  to  lay  his  hand  upon  the  king's  shoulder,  when 
Hendon  said— 

"  Gently,  good  friend,  withhold  your  hand — he  shall  go 
peaceably;  I  am  responsible  for  that.  Lead  on,  we  will  fol 
low." 

The  officer  led,  with  the  woman  and  her  bundle;  Miles 
and  the  king  followed  after,  with  the  crowd  at  their  heels. 
The  King  was  inclined  to  rebel;  but  Hendon  said  to  him  in  a 
low  voice — 

"Reflect,  sire — your  laws  are  the  wholesome  breath  of 
your  own  royalty;  shall  their  source  resist  them,  yet  require 
the  branches  to  respect  them  ?  Apparently  one  of  these  laws 

198 


THE   PRINCE   A   PRISONER. 


199 


has  been  broken;  when  the  king  is  on  his  throne  again,  can 
it  ever  grieve  him  to  remember  that  when  he  was  seemingly 


"  GENTLY,    GOOD    FRIEND." 

a  private  person  he  loyally  sunk  the  king  in  the  citizen  and 
submitted  to  its  authority  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  right;  say  no  more;  thou  shalt  see  that  whatso 
ever  the  king  of  England  requires  a  subject  to  suffer  under 


200  THE    PRINCE   A   PRISONER. 

the  law,  he  will  himself  suffer  while  he  holdeth  the  station  of 
a  subject." 

When  the  woman  was  called  upon  to  testify  before  the  jus 
tice  of  the  peace,  she  swore  that  the  small  prisoner  at  the  bar 
was  the  person  who  had  committed  the  theft;  there  was  none 
able  to  show  the  contrary,  so  the  king  stood  convicted.  The 
bundle  was  now  unrolled,  and  when  the  contents  proved  to  be  a 
plump  little  dressed  pig,  the  judge  looked  troubled,  whilst 
Hendon  turned  pale,  and  his  body  was  thrilled  with  an  elec 
tric  shiver  of  dismay;  but  the  king  remained  unmoved,  pro 
tected  by  his  ignorance.  The.  judge  meditated,  during  an 
ominous  pause,  then  turned  to  the  woman,  with  the  ques 
tion — 

"  What  dost  thou  hold  this  property  to  be  worth  ? " 

The  woman  courtesied  and  replied— 

"  Three  shillings  and  eightpence,  your  worship — I  could 
not  abate  a  penny  and  set  forth  the  value  honestly." 

The  justice  glanced  around  uncomfortably  upon  the  crowd, 
then  nodded  to  the  constable  and  said — 

"  Clear  the  court  and  close  the  doors." 

It  was  done.  None  remained  but  the  two  officials,  the  ac 
cused,  the  accuser,  and  Miles  Hendon.  This  latter  was  rigid 
and  colorless,  and  on  his  forehead  big  drops  of  cold  sweat 
gathered,  broke  and  blended  together,  and  trickled  down  his 
face.  The  judge  turned  to  the  woman  again,  and  said,  in  a 
compassionate  voice — 

"  'Tis  a  poor  ignorant  lad,  and  mayhap  was  driven  hard  by 
hunger,  for  these  be  grievous  times  for  the  unfortunate; 
mark  you,  he  hath  not  an  evil  face — but  when  hunger  driveth 
— Good  woman!  dost  know  that  when  one  steals  a  thing  above 
the  value  of  thirteen  pence  ha'penny  the  law  saith  he  shall 
hang  for  it  ?  " 

The  little  king  started,  wide-eyed  with  consternation,  but 
controlled  himself  and  held  his  peace;  but  not  so  the 


THE   PRINCE   A   PRISONER.  2OI 

woman.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  shaking  with  fright,  and 
cried  out — 

"  O,  good  lack,  what  have  I  done  !  God-a-mercy,  I  would 
not  hang  the  poor  thing  for  the  whole  world  !  Ah,  save  me 
from  this,  your  worship — what  shall  I  do,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

The  justice  maintained  his  judicial  composure,  and  simply 
said — 

"  Doubtless  it  is  allowable  to  revise  the  value,  since  it  is 
not  yet  writ  upon  the  record." 

"  Then  in  God's  name  call  the  pig  eightpence,  and  heaven 
bless  the  day  that  freed  my  conscience  of  this  awesome 
thing  !  " 

Miles  Hendon  forgot  all  decorum  in  his  delight;  and  sur 
prised  the  king  and  wounded  his  dignity,  by  throwing  his  arms 
around  him  and  hugging  him.  The  woman  made  her  grate 
ful  adieux  and  started  away  with  her  pig;  and  when  the  con 
stable  opened  the  door  for  her,  he  followed  her  out  into  the 
narrow  hall.  The  justice  proceeded  to  write  in  his  record 
book.  Hendon,  always  alert,  thought  he  would  like  to  know 
why  the  officer  followed  the  woman  out;  so  he  slipped  softly 
into  the  dusky  hall  and  listened.  He  heard  a  conversation 
to  this  effect — • 

"  It  is  a  fat  pig,  and  promises  good  eating;  I  will  buy  it  of 
thee;  here  is  the  eightpence." 

"  Eightpence,  indeed  !  Thou'lt  do  no  such  thing.  It  cost 
me  three  shillings  and  eightpence,  good  honest  coin  of  the 
last  reign,  that  old  Harry  that's  just  dead  ne'er  touched 
nor  tampered  with.  A  fig  for  thy  eightpence  !  " 

"  Stands  the  wind  in  that  quarter  ?  Thou  wast  under  oath, 
and  so  swore  falsely  when  thou  saidst  the  value  was  but  eight- 
pence.  Come  straightway  back  with  me  before  his  worship, 
and  answer  for  the  crime  I— and  then  the  lad  will  hang." 

"  There,  there,  dear  heart,  say  no  more,  I  am  content. 
Give  me  the  eightpence,  and  hold  thy  peace  about  the  matter." 


202  THE   PRINCE   A   PRISONER. 

The  woman  went  off  crying;  Hendon  slipped  back  into  the 
court  room,  and  the  constable  presently  followed,  after  hid 
ing  his  prize  in  some  convenient  place.  The  justice  wrote  a 
while  longer,  then  read  the  king  a  wise  and  kindly  lecture,  and 
sentenced  him  to  a  short  imprisonment  in  the  common  jail, 
to  be  followed  by  a  public  flogging.  The  astounded  king 
opened  his  mouth  and  was  probably  going  to  order  the  good 
judge  to  be  beheaded  on  the  spot;  but  he  caught  a  warning 
sign  from  Hendon,  and  succeeded  in  closing  his  mouth  again 
before  he  lost  any  thing  out  of  it.  Hendon  took  him  by  the 
hand,  now  made  reverence  to  the  justice,  and  the  two  depart 
ed  in  the.  wake  of  the  constable  toward  the  jail.  The  mo 
ment  the  street  was  reached,  the  inflamed  monarch  halted, 
snatched  away  his  hand,  and  exclaimed— 

"  Idiot, dost  imagine  I  will  enter  a  common  jail  alive  ?  " 
Hendon  bent  down  and  said,  somewhat  sharply— 
"Will  you  trust  in  me?     Peace!  and  forbear  to  worsen 
our  chances  with  dangerous  speech.     What  God   wills,  will 
happen;  thou   canst  not  hurry  it,    thou   canst   not  alter  it; 
therefore  wait,  and  be  patient — 'twill  be  time  enow  to  rail  or 
rejoice  when  what  is  to  happen  has  happened."* 

*See  Notes  to  Chapter  23,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    ESCAPE. 

THE  short  winter  day  was  nearly  ended.  The  streets  were 
deserted,  save  for  a  few  random  stragglers,  and  these  hurried 
straight  along,  with  the  intent  look  of  people  who  were  only 
anxious  to  accomplish  their  errands  as  quickly  as  possible 
and  then  snugly  house  themselves  from  the  rising  wind  and 
the  gathering  twilight.  They  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left;  they  paid  no  attention  to  our  party,  they  did  not 
even  seem  to  see  them.  Edward  the  Sixth  wondered  if  the 
spectacle  of  a  king  on  his  way  to  jail  had  ever  encountered 
such  marvellous  indifference  before.  By  and  by  the  con 
stable  arrived  at  a  deserted  market-square  and  proceeded  to 
cross  it.  When  he  had  reached  the  middle  of  it,  Hendon 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  said  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Bide  a  moment,  good  sir,  there  is  none  in  hearing,  and 
I  would  say  a  word  to  thee." 

"  My  duty  forbids  it,  sir;  prithee  hinder  me  not,  the  night 
comes  on." 

"  Stay,  nevertheless,  for  the  matter  concerns  thee  nearly. 
Turn  thy  back  a  moment  and  seem  not  to  see;  let  this  poor 
lad  escape" 

"  This  to  me,  sir  !     I  arrest  thee  in  " — 

"  Nay,  be  not  too  hasty.  See  thou  be  careful  and  com 
mit  no  foolish  error" — then  he  shut  his  voice  down  to  a 
whisper,  and  said  in  the  man's  ear — "  the  pig  thou  hast  pur 
chased  for  eightpence  may  cost  thee  thy  neck,  man  ! " 

The  poor  constable,  taken  by  surprise,  was  speechless,  at 


204 


THE   ESCAPE. 


first,  then  found  his  tongue  and  fell  to  blustering  and  threat 
ening;  but  Hendon  was  tranquil,  and  waited  with  patience 
till  his  breath  was  spent;  then  said— 

"I  have  a  liking  to  thee,  friend,  and  would  not  willingly 
see  thee  come  to  harm.  Observe,  I  heard  it  all — every  word. 
I  will  prove  it  to  thee."  Then  he  repeated  the  conversation 


"THE  PIG  MAY  COST  THY  NECK,  MAN." 

which  the  officer  and  the  woman  had  had  together  in  the  hall, 
word  for  word,  and  ended  with — 

"  There — have  I  set  it  forth  correctly  ?  Should  not  I  be 
able  to  set  it  forth  correctly  before  the  judge,  if  occasion  re 
quired?" 

The  man  was  dumb  with  fear  and  distress,  for  a  moment; 
then  he  rallied  and  said  with  forced  lightness — 

"  'Tis  making  a  mighty  matter  indeed,  out  of  a  jest;  I  but 
plagued  the  woman  for  mine  amusement." 


THE   ESCAPE.  205 

"  Kept  you  the  woman's  pig  for  amusement  ?  " 

The  man  answered  sharply — 

"Nought  else,  good  sir — I  tell  thee  'twas  but  a  jest." 

"  I  do  begin  to  believe  thee,"  said  Hendon,  with  a  per 
plexing  mixture  of  mockery  and  half-conviction  in  his  tone; 
"  but  tarry  thou  here  a  moment  whilst  I  run  and  ask  his 
worship — for  nathless,  he  being  a  man  experienced  in  law,  in 
jests,  in  " — 

He  was  moving  away,  still  talking;  the  constable  hesitated, 
fidgetted,  spat  out  an  oath  or  two,  then  cried  out — 

"  Hold,  hold,  good  sir — prithee  wait  a  little — the  judge  ! 
why  man,  he  hath  no  more  sympathy  with  a  jest  than  hath  a 
dead  corpse  ! — come,  and  we  will  speak  further.  Ods  body  ! 
I  seem  to  be  in  evil  case — and  all  for  an  innocent  and 
thoughtless  pleasantry.  I  am  a  man  of  family;  and  my  wife 
and  little  ones —  List  to  reason,  good  your  worship;  what 
wouldst  thou  of  me  ?  " 

"  Only  that  thou  be  blind  and  dumb  and  paralytic  whilst 
one  may  count  a  hundred  thousand — counting  slowly,"  said 
Hendon,  with  the  expression  of  a  man  who  asks  but  a  rea 
sonable  favor,  and  that  a  very  little  one. 

"  It  is  my  destruction  !  "  said  the  constable  despairingly. 
"  Ah,  be  reasonable,  good  sir;  only  look  at  this  matter,  on 
all  its  sides,  and  see  how  mere  a  jest  it  is — how  manifestly 
and  how  plainly  it  is  so.  And  even  if  one  granted  it  were 
not  a  jest,  it  is  a  fault  so  small  that  e'en  the  grimmest 
penalty  it  could  call  forth  would  be  but  a  rebuke  and  warn 
ing  from  the  judge's  lips." 

Hendon  replied  with  a  solemnity  which  chilled  the  air 
about  him— 

"  This  jest  of  thine  hath  a  name,  in  law, — wot  you  what  it  is  ?" 

"  I  knew  it  not  !  Peradventure  I  have  been  unwise.  I 
never  dreamed  it  had  a  name— ah,  sweet  heaven,  I  thought 
it  was  original." 


2O6  THE   ESCAPE. 

"  Yes,  it  hath  a  name.  In  the  law  this  crime  is  called  Non 
compos  mentis  lex  talionis  sic  transit  gloria  Mnndi" 

"Ah,  my  God!" 

"And  the  penalty  is  death  !" 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner  !  " 

"  By  advantage  taken  of  one  in  fault,  in  dire  peril,  and  at 
thy  mercy,  thou  hast  seized  goods  worth  above  thirteen 
pence  ha'penny,  paying  but  a  trifle  for  the  same;  and  this, 
in  the  eye  of  the  law,  is  constructive  barratry,  misprision  of 
treason,  malfeasance  in  office,  ad  hominem  expurgatis  in  statu 
quo — and  the  penalty  is  death  by  the  halter,  without  ransom, 
commutation,  or  benefit  of  clergy." 

.  "  Bear  me  up,  bear  me  up,  sweet  sir,  my  legs  do  fail  me  ! 
Be  thou  merciful — spare  me  this  doom,  and  I  will  turn  my 
back  and  see  nought  that  shall  happen." 

"  Good  !  now  thou'rt  wise  and  reasonable.  And  thou'lt 
restore  the  pig  ?  " 

"  I  will,  I  will  indeed — nor  ever  touch  another,  though 
heaven  send  it  and  an  archangel  fetch  it.  Go — I  am  blind 
for  thy  sake — I  see  nothing.  I  will  say  thou  didst  break  in 
and  wrest  the  prisoner  from  my  hands  by  force.  It  is  but  a 
crazy,  ancient  door — I  will  batter  it  down  myself  betwixt 
midnight  and  the  morning." 

"Do  it,  good  soul,  no  harm  will  come  of  it;  the  judge 
hath  a  loving  charity  for  this  poor  lad,  and  will  shed  no  tears 
and  break  no  jailer's  bones  for  his  escape." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HENDON    HALL. 

As  soon  as  Hendon  and  the  king  were  out  of  sight  of  the 
constable,  his  majesty  was  instructed  to  hurry  to  a  certain 
place  outside  the  town,  and  wait  there,  whilst  Hendon  should 
go  to  the  inn  and  settle  his  account.  Half  an  hour  later  the 
two  friends  were  blithely  jogging  eastward  on  Hendon's  sorry 
steeds.  The  king  was  warm  and  comfortable,  now,  for  he 
had  cast  his  rags  and  clothed  himself  in  the  second-hand 
suit  which  Hendon  had  bought  on  London  Bridge. 

Hendon  wished  to  guard  against  over-fatiguing  the  boy; 
he  judged  that  hard  journeys,  irregular  meals,  and  illiberal 
measures  of  sleep  would  be  bad  for  his  crazed  mind;  whilst 
rest,  regularity,  and  moderate  exercise  would  be  pretty  sure 
to  hasten  its  cure;  he  longed  to  see  the  stricken  intellect 
made  well  again  and  its  diseased  visions  driven  out  of  the 
tormented  little  head;  therefore  he  resolved  to  move  by  easy 
stages  toward  the  home  whence  he  had  so  long  been  ban 
ished,  instead  of  obeying  the  impulse  of  his  impatience  and 
hurrying  along  night  and  day. 

When  he  and  the  king  had  journeyed  about  ten  miles,  they 
reached  a  considerable  village,  and  halted  there  for  the  night, 
at  a  good  inn.  The  former  relations  were  resumed;  Hendon 
stood  behind  the  king's  chair,  while  he  dined,  and  waited 
upon  him;  undressed  him  when  he  was  ready  for  bed;  then 
took  the  floor  for  his  own  quarters,  and  slept  athwart  the 
door,  rolled  up  in  a  blanket. 

207 


208 


HENDON    HALL. 


The  next  day,  and  the  next  day  after,  they  jogged  lazily 
along  talking  over  the  adventures  they  had  met  since  their 
separation,  and  mightily  enjoying  each  other's  narratives. 
Hendon  detailed  all  his  wide  wanderings  in  search  of  the 
king,  and  described  how  the  archangel  had  led  him  a  fool's 


JOGGING   EASTWARD    ON    SORRY    STEEDS. 

journey  all  over  the  forest,  and  taken  him  back  to  the  hut, 
finally,  when  he  found  he  could  not  get  rid  of  him.  Then- 
he  said — the  old  man  went  into  the  bedchamber  and  came 
staggering  back  looking  broken-hearted,  and  saying  he  had 
expected  to  find  that  the  boy  had  returned  and  lain  down  in 
there  to  rest,  but  it  was  not  so.  Hendon  had  waited  at  the 


HENDON    HALL.  2OQ 

hut  all  day;  hope  of  the  king's  return  died  out,  then,  and  he 
departed  upon  the  quest  again. 

"  And  old  Sanctum  Sanctorum  was  truly  sorry  your  high 
ness  came  not  back,"  said  Hendon;  "  I  saw  it  in  his  face." 

"  Marry  I  will  never  doubt  that!"  said  the  King— and 
then  told  his  own  story;  after  which,  Hendon  was  sorry  he 
had  not  destroyed  the  archangel. 

During  the  last  day  of  the  trip,  Hendon's  spirits  were  soar 
ing.  His  tongue  ran  constantly.  He  talked  about  his  old 
father,  and  his  brother  Arthur,  and  told  of  many  things 
which  illustrated  their  high  and  generous  characters;  he  went 
into  loving  frenzies  over  his  Edith,  and  was  so  gladhearted 
that  he  was  even  able  to  say  some  gentle  and  brotherly  things 
about  Hugh.  He  dwelt  a  deal  on  the  coming  meeting  at 
Hendon  Hall;  what  a  surprise  it  would  be  to  everybody,  and 
what  an  outburst  of  thanksgiving  and  delight  there  would  be. 

It  was  a  fair  region,  dotted  with  cottages  and  orchards,  and 
the  road  led  through  broad  pasture  lands  whose  receding  ex 
panses,  marked  with  gentle  elevations  and  depressions,  sug 
gested  the  swelling  and  subsiding  undulations  of  the  sea.  In 
the  afternoon  the  returning  prodigal  made  constant  deflec 
tions  from  his  course  to  see  if  by  ascending  some  hillock  he 
might  not  pierce  the  distance  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  his 
home.  At  last  he  was  successful,  and  cried  out  excitedly — 

11  There  is  the  village,  my  prince,  and  there  is  the  Hall 
close  by  !  You  may  see  the  towers  from  here;  and  that  wood 
there — that  is  my  father's  park.  Ah,  now  thou'lt  know  what 
state  and  grandeur  be  !  A  house  with  seventy  rooms — think 
of  that  ! — and  seven  and  twenty  servants  !  A  brave  lodging 
for  such  as  we,  is  it  not  so  ?  Come,  let  us  speed — my  impa 
tience  will  not  brook  further  delay." 

All  possible  hurry  was  made;  still,  it  was  after  three  o'clock 
before  the  village  was  reached.  The  travellers  scampered 
through  it,  Hendon's  tongue  going  all  the  time.  "Here  is 


210  HENDON    HALL. 

the  church — coveted  with  the  same  ivy — none  gone,  none 
added/'  "Yonder  is  the  inn,  the  old  Red  Lion, — and  yonder 
is  the  marketplace."  "  Here  is  the  Maypole,  and  here  the 
pump — nothing  is  altered;  nothing  but  the  people,  at  any 
rate;  ten  years  make  a  change  in  people;  some  of  these  I 
seem  to  know,  but  none  know  me."  So  his  chat  ran  on.  The 
end  of  the  village  was  soon  reached;  then  the  travellers 
struck  into  a  crooked,  narrow  road,  walled  in  with  tall  hedges, 
and  hurried  briskly  along  it  for  a  half  mile,  then  passed  into 
avast  flower  garden  through  an  imposing  gateway  whose  huge 
stone  pillars  bore  sculptured  armorial  devices.  A  noble  man 
sion  was  before  them. 

"  Welcome  to  Hendon  Hall,  my  king  !  "  exclaimed  Miles. 
"  Ah,  'tis  a  great  day  !  My  father  and  my  brother,  and  the 
lady  Edith  will  be  so  mad  with  joy  that  they  will  have  eyes 
and  tongue  for  none  but  me  in  the  first  transports  of  the 
meeting,  and  so  thou'lt  seem  but  coldly  welcomed — but  mind 
it  not;  'twill  soon  seem  otherwise;  for  when  I  say  thou  art  my 
ward,  and  tell  them  how  costly  is  my  love  for  thee,  thou'lt  see 
them  take  thee  to  their  breasts  for  Miles  Hendon's  sake,  and 
make  their  house  and  hearts  thy  home  forever  after  !  " 

The  next  moment  Hendon  sprang  to  the  ground  before  the 
great  door,  helped  the  king  down,  then  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  rushed  within.  A  few  steps  brought  him  to  a  spacious 
apartment;  he  entered,  seated  the  king  with  more  hurry  than 
ceremony,  then  ran  toward  a  young  man  who  sat  at  a  writing 
table  in  front  of  a  generous  fire  of  logs. 

"Embrace  me,  Hugh,"  he  cried,  "and  say  thou'rt  glad  I 
am  come  again  !  and  call  our  father,  for  home  is  not  home 
till  I  shall  touch  his  hand,  and  see  his  face,  and  hear  his  voice 
once  more  ! " 

But  Hugh  only  drew  back,  after  betraying  a  momentary 
surprise,  and  bent  a  grave  stare  upon  the  intruder — a  stare 
which  indicated  somewhat  of  offended  dignity,  at  first,  then 


HENDON    HALL.  211 

changed,  in  response  to  some  inward  thought  or  purpose,  to 
an  expression  of  marvelling  curiosity,  mixed  with  a  real  or 
assumed  compassion.  Presently  he  said,  in  a  mild  voice — 

"  Thy  wits  seem  touched,  poor  stranger;  doubtless  thou 
hast  suffered  privations  and  rude  bufferings  at  the  world's 
hands;  thy  looks  and  dress  betoken  it.  Whom  dost  thou 
take  me  to  be  ?" 

"  Take  thee  ?  Prithee  for  whom  else  than  whom  thou  art  ? 
I  take  thee  to  be  Hugh  Hendon,"  said  Miles,  sharply. 

The  other  continued,  in  the  same  soft  tone — 

"  And  whom  dost  thou  imagine  thyself  to  be  ?  " 

"  Imagination  hath  nought  to  do  with  it  !  Dost  thou  pre 
tend  thou  knowest  me  not  for  thy  brother  Miles  Hendon  ?  " 

An  expression  of  pleased  surprise  flitted  across  Hugh's 
face,  and  he  exclaimed — 

"What  !  thou  art  not  jesting  ?  can  the  dead  come  to  life? 
God  be  praised  if  it  be  so  !  Our  poor  lost  boy  restored  to 
our  arms  after  all  these  cruel  years  !  Ah,  it  seems  too  good 
to  be  true,  it  is  too  good  to  be  true — I  charge  thee,  have  pity, 
do  not  trifle  with  me  !  Quick — come  to  the  light — let  me 
scan  thee  well  !  " 

He  seized  Miles  by  the  arm,  dragged  him  to  the  window, 
and  began  to  devour  him  from  head  to  foot  with  his  eyes, 
turning  him  this  way  and  that,  and  stepping  briskly  around 
him  and  about  him  to  prove  him  from  all  points  of  view; 
whilst  the  returned  prodigal,  all  aglow  with  gladness,  smiled, 
laughed,  and  kept  nodding  his  head  and  saying — 

"  Go  on,  brother,  go  on,  and  fear  not;  thou'lt  find  nor 
limb  nor  feature  that  cannot  bide  the  test.  Scour  and  scan 
me  to  thy  content,  my  dear  old  Hugh — I  am  indeed  thy  old 
Miles,  thy  same  old  Miles,  thy  lost  brother,  is't  not  so  ?  Ah, 
'tis  a  great  day — I  said  'twas  a  great  day  !  Give  me  thy 
hand,  give  me  thy  cheek — lord,  I  am  like  to  die  of  very  joy  !  " 

He  was  about  to  throw  himself  upon  his  brother;  but  Hugh 


212  HENDON    HALL. 

put  up  his  hand  in  dissent,  then  dropped  his  chin  mournfully 
upon  his  breast,  saying  with  emotion — 

"  Ah,  God  of  his  mercy  give  me  strength  to  bear  this 
grievous  disappointment  ! " 

Miles,  amazed,  could  not  speak,  for  a  moment;  then  he 
found  his  tongue,  and  cried  out — 

"  What  disappointment?     Am  I  not  thy  brother?" 

Hugh  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  said— 

"  I  pray  heaven  it  may  prove  so,  and  that  other  eyes  may 
find  the  resemblances  that  are  hid  from  mine.  Alack,  I  fear 
me  the  letter  spoke  but  too  truly." 

"What  letter?" 

"  One  that  came  from  over  sea,  some  six  or  seven  years 
ago.  It  said  my  brother  died  in  battle." 

"  It  was  a  lie  !     Call  thy  father — he  will  know  me." 

"One  may  not  call  the  dead." 

"Dead?"  Miles's  voice  was  subdued,  and  his  lips  trem 
bled.  "My  father  dead  ! — O,  this  is  heavy  news.  Half  my 
new  joy  is  withered  now.  Prithee  let  me  see  my  brother 
Arthur — he  will  know  me;  he  will  know  me  and  console  me." 

"  He,  also,  is  dead." 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  stricken  man  !  Gone, — both 
gone — the  worthy  taken  and  the  worthless  spared,  in  me  ! 
Ah  !  I  crave  your  mercy  ! — do  not  say  the  lady  Edith  " — 

"  Is  dead  ?     No,  she  lives." 

"  Then,  God  be  praised,  my  joy  is  whole  again  !  Speed 
thee,  brother — let  her  come  to  me  !  An'  she  say  I  am  not 
myself, — but  she  will  not;  no,  no,  she  will  know  me,  I  were  a 
fool  to  doubt  it.  Bring  her — bring  the  old  servants;  they, 
too,  will  know  me." 

"All  are  gone  but  five — Peter,  Halsey,  David,  Bernard 
and  Margaret." 

So  saying,  Hugh  left  the  room.  Miles  stood  musing,  a 
while,  then  began  to  walk  the  floor,  muttering— 


HENDON    HALL.  213 

"  The  five  arch  villains  have  survived  the  two-and-twenty 
leal  and  honest — 'tis  an  odd  thing." 

He  continued  walking  back  and  forth,  muttering  to  him 
self;  he  had  forgotten  the  king  entirely.  By  and  by  his  maj 
esty  said  gravely,  and  with  a  touch  of  genuine  compassion, 
though  the  words  themselves  were  capable  of  being  inter 
preted  ironically — 

"  Mind  not  thy  mischance,  good  man;  there  be  others  in 
the  world  whose  identity  is  denied,  and  whose  claims  are  de 
rided.  Thou  hast  company." 

"  Ah,  my  king,"  cried  Hendon,  coloring  slightly,  "  do  not 
thou  condemn  me — wait,  and  thou  shalt  see.  I  am  no  im 
postor — she  will  say  it;  you  shall  hear  it  from  the  sweetest 
lips  in  England.  I  an  impostor?  Why  I  know  this  old  hall, 
these  pictures  of  my  ancestors,  and  all  these  things  that  are 
about  us,  as  a  child  knoweth  its  own  nursery.  Here  was  I 
bom  and  bred,  my  lord;  I  speak  the  truth;  I  would  not  de 
ceive  thee;  and  should  none  else  believe,  I  pray  thee  do  not 
thou  doubt  me — I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  thee,"  said  the  king,  with  a  childlike  sim 
plicity  and  faith. 

"  I  thank  thee  out  of  my  heart  !  "  exclaimed  Hendon, 
with  a  fervency  which  showed  that  he  was  touched.  The 
king  added,  with  the  same  gentle  simplicity — 

"  Dost  thou  doubt  me  ?  " 

A  guilty  confusion  seized  upon  Hendon,  and  he  was  grate 
ful  that  the  door  opened  to  admit  Hugh,  at  that  moment,  and 
saved  him  the  necessity  of  replying. 

A  beautiful  lady,  richly  clothed,  followed  Hugh,  and  after 
her  came  several  liveried  servants.  The  lady  walked  slowly, 
with  her  head  bowed  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor.  The 
face  was  unspeakably  sad.  Miles  Hendon  sprang  forward, 
crying  out— 

"  O,  my  Edith,  my  darling  " — 


214 


HENDON   HALL. 


But  Hugh  waved  him  back,  gravely,  and  said  to  the  lady — 

"  Look  upon  him.     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  Miles's  voice  the  woman  had  started, 
slightly,  and  her  cheeks  had  flushed;  she  was  trembling,  now. 
She  stood  still,  during  an  impressive  pause  of  several  mo 
ments;  then  slowly  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked  into  Hen- 
don's  eyes  with  a  stony  and  frightened  gaze;  the  blood  sank 
out  of  her  face,  drop  by  drop,  till  nothing  remained  but  the 


BEAUTIFUL    LADY,    RICHLY    CLOTHED,    FOLLOWED    HUGH.' 


gray  pallor  of  death;  then  she  said,  in  a  voice  as  dead  as  the 

face,   "  I  know  him  not  !  "  and  turned,  with  a  moan  and  a 

stifled  sob,  and  tottered  out  of  the  room. 

Miles  Hendon  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with 

his  hands.     After  a  pause,  his  brother  said  to  the  servants — 
"You  have  observed  him.     Do  you  know  him?" 
They  shook  their  heads;  then  the  master  said — 


HENDON    HALL. 


215 


"  The  servants  know  you  not,  sir.  I  fear  there  is  some 
mistake.  You  have  seen  that  my  wife  knew  you  not." 

"  Thy  wife  !  "  In  an  instant  Hugh  was  pinned  to  the  wall, 
with  an  iron  grip  about  his  throat.  "  O,  thou  fox-hearted 


"  HUGH   WAS    PINNED    TO    THE    WALL." 

slave,  I  see  it  all  !  Thou'st  writ  the  lying  letter  thyself,  and 
my  stolen  bride  and  goods  are  its  fruit.  There— now  get 
thee  gone,  lest  I  shame  mine  honorable  soldiership  with  the 
slaying  of  so  pitiful  a  manikin  !  " 

Hugh,  red-faced,  and  almost  suffocated,  reeled  to  the  near- 


2l6  HENDON    HALL. 

est  chair,  and  commanded  the  servants  to  seize  and  bind  the 
murderous  stranger.  They  hesitated,  and  one  of  them  said — 

"He  is  armed,  Sir  Hugh,  and  we  are  weaponless." 

"  Armed  ?  What  of  it,  and  ye  so  many  ?  Upon  him,  I 
say  ! " 

But  Miles  warned  them  to  be  careful  what  they  did,  and 
added — 

"  Ye  know  me  of  old — I  have  not  changed;  come  on,  an'  it 
like  yon." 

This  reminder  did  not  hearten  the  servants  much;  they  still 
held  back. 

"  Then  go,  ye  paltry  cowards,  and  arm  yourselves  and 
guard  the  doors,  whilst  I  send  one  to  fetch  the  watch;"  said 
Hugh.  He  turned,  at  the  threshold,  and  said  to  Miles, 
"  You'll  find  it  to  your  advantage  to  offend  not  with  useless 
endeavors  at  escape." 

"Escape?  Spare  thyself  discomfort,  an'  that  is  all  that 
troubles  thee.  For  Miles  Hendon  is  master  of  Hendon  Hall 
and  all  its  belongings.  He  will  remain — doubt  it  not." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DISOWNED. 

THE  king  sat  musing  a  few  moments,  then  looked  up  and 
said — 

"Tis  strange — most  strange.     I  cannot  account  for  it." 

"  No,  it  is  not  strange,  my  liege.  I  know  him,  and  this 
conduct  is  but  natural.  He  was  a  rascal  from  his  birth." 

"  O,  I  spake  not  of  him,  Sir  Miles." 

"  Not  of  him  ?  Then  of  what  ?  What  is  it  that  is 
strange  ?  " 

"  That  the  king  is  not  missed." 

"  How  ?     Which  ?     I  doubt  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Indeed  !  Doth  it  not  strike  you  as  being  passing  strange 
that  the  land  is  not  filled  with  couriers  and  proclamations  de 
scribing  my  person  and  making  search  for  me  ?  Is  it  no  mat 
ter  for  commotion  and  distress  that  the  head  of  the  State  is 
gone  ? — that  I  am  vanished  away  and  lost  ?  " 

"  Most  true,  my  king,  I  had  forgot."  Then  Hendon  sighed, 
and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Poor  ruined  mind — still  busy  with 
its  pathetic  dream." 

"  But  I  have  a  plan  that  shall  right  us  both.  I  will  write 
a  paper,  in  three  tongues— Latin,  Greek  and  English — and 
thou  shalt  haste  away  with  it  to  London  in  the  morning. 
Give  it  to  none  but  my  uncle,  the  lord  Hertford;  when  he 
shall  see  it,  he  will  know  and  say  I  wrote  it.  Then  he  will 
send  for  me." 

"  Might  it  not  be  best,  my  prince,  that  we  wait,  here,  until 

217 


2l8  DISOWNED. 

I  prove  myself  and  make  my  rights  secure  to  my  domains  ?  I 
should  be  so  much  the  better  able  then  to  "  — 

The  king  interrupted  him  imperiously — 

"  Peace  !  What  are  thy  paltry  domains,  thy  trivial  inter 
ests,  contrasted  with  matters  which  concern  the  weal  of  a  na 
tion  and  the  integrity  of  a  throne  !  "  Then  he  added,  in  a 
gentle  voice,  as  if  he  were  sorry  for  his  severity,  "Obey  and 
have  no  fear;  I  will  right  thee,  I  will  make  thee  whole— yes, 
more  than  whole.  I  shall  remember,  and  requite." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  pen,  and  set  himself  to  work.  Hen- 
don  contemplated  him  lovingly,  a  while,  then  said  to  him 
self— 

"  An'  it  were  dark,  I  should  think  it  was  a  king  that  spoke; 
there's  no  denying  it,  when  the  humor's  upon  him  he  doth 
thunder  and  lighten  like  your  true  king — now  where  got  he 
that  trick  ?  See  him  scribble  and  scratch  away  contentedly 
at  his  meaningless  pot-hooks,  fancying  them  to  be  Latin  and 
Greek — and  except  my  wit  shall  serve  me  with  a  lucky  device 
for  diverting  him  from  his  purpose,  I  shall  be  forced  to  pre 
tend  to  post  away  to-morrow  on  this  wild  errand  he  hath  in 
vented  for  me." 

The  next  moment  Sir  Miles's  thoughts  had  gone  back  to 
the  recent  episode.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  musings,  that 
when  the  king  presently  handed  him  the  paper  which  he  had 
been  writing,  he  received  it  and  pocketed  it  without  being 
conscious  of  the  act.  "  How  marvellous  strange  she  acted," 
he  muttered.  "  I  think  she  knew  me — and  I  think  she  did 
not  know  me.  These  opinions  do  conflict,  I  perceive  it  plain 
ly;  I  cannot  reconcile  them,  neither  can  I,  by  argument,  dis 
miss  either  of  the  two,  or  even  persuade  one  to  outweigh  the 
other.  The  matter  standeth  simply  thus  :  she  must  have 
known  my  face,  my  figure,  my  voice,  for  how  could  it  be  oth 
erwise  ?  yet  she  said  she  knew  me  not,  and  that  is  proof  per 
fect,  for  she  cannot  lie.  But  stop — I  think  I  begin  to  see. 


DISOWNED.  219 

Peradventure  he  hath  influenced  her— commanded  her — com 
pelled  her,  to  lie.  That  is  the  solution  !  The  riddle  is  un 
riddled.  She  seemed  dead  with  fear — yes,  she  was  under 
his  compulsion.  I  will  seek  her;  I  will  find  her;  now  that  he 
is  away,  she  will  speak  her  true  mind.  She  will  remember 
the  old  times  when  we  were  little  playfellows  together,  and 
this  will  soften  her  heart,  and  she  will  no  more  betray  me, 
but  will  confess  me.  There  is  no  treacherous  blood  in  her — 
no,  she  was  always  honest  and  true.  She  has  loved  me  in 
those  old  days — this  is  my  security;  for  whom  one  has  loved, 
one  cannot  betray." 

He  stepped  eagerly  toward  the  door;  at  that  moment  it 
opened,  and  the  lady  Edith  entered.  She  was  very  pale,  but 
she  walked  with  a  firm  step,  and  her  carriage  was  full  of 
grace  and  gentle  dignity.  Her  face  was  as  sad  as  before. 

Miles  sprang  forward,  with  a  happy  confidence,  to  meet  her, 
but  she  checked  him  with  a  hardly  perceptible  gesture,  and 
he  stopped  where  he  was.  She  seated  herself,  and  asked  him 
to  do  likewise.  Thus  simply  did  she  take  the  sense  of  old- 
comradeship  out  of  him,  and  transform  him  into  a  stranger 
and  a  guest.  The  surprise  of  it,  the  bewildering  unexpected 
ness  of  it,  made  him  begin  to  question,  for  a  moment,  if  he 
was  the  person  he  was  pretending  to  be,  after  all.  The  lady 
Edith  said— 

"  Sir,  I  have  come  to  warn  you.  The  mad  cannot  be  per 
suaded  out  of  their  delusions,  perchance;  but  doubtless  they 
may  be  persuaded  to  avoid  perils.  I  think  this  dream  of 
yours  hath  the  seeming  of  honest  truth  to  you,  and  therefore 
is  not  criminal — but  do  not  tarry  here  with  it;  for  here  it  is 
dangerous."  She  looked  steadily  into  Miles' s  face,  a  mo 
ment,  then  added,  impressively,  "  It  is  the  more  dangerous 
for  that  you  are  much  like  what  our  lost  lad  must  have  grown 
to  be,  if  he  had  lived." 

"  Heavens,  madame,  but  I  am  he  !  " 


220  DISOWNED. 

"  I  truly  think  you  think  it,  sir.  I  question  not  your  hon 
esty  in  that— I  but  warn  you,  that  is  all.  My  husband  is 
master  in  this  region;  his  power  hath  hardly  any  limit;  the 
people  prosper  or  starve,  as  he  wills.  If  you  resembled  not 
the  man  whom  you  profess  to  be,  my  husband  might  bid  you 
pleasure  yourself  with  your  dream  in  peace;  but  trust  me,  I 
know  him  well,  I  know  what  he  will  do;  he  will  say  to  all, 
that  you  are  but  a  mad  impostor,  and  straightway  all  will  echo 
him."  She  bent  upon  Miles  that  same  steady  look  once 
more,  and  added:  "  If  you  were  Miles  Hendon,  and  he  knew 
it  and  all  the  region  knew  it — consider  what  I  am  saying, 
weigh  it  well — you  would  stand  in  the  same  peril,  your  pun 
ishment  would  be  no  less  sure;  he  would  deny  you  and  de 
nounce  you,  and  none  would  be  bold  enough  to  give  you 
countenance." 

"  Most  truly  I  believe  it,"  said  Miles,  bitterly.  "The 
power  that  can  command  one  life-long  friend  to  betray  and 
disown  another,  and  be  obeyed,  may  well  look  to  be  obeyed 
in  quarters  where  bread  and  life  are  on  the  stake  and  no  cob 
web  ties  of  loyalty  and  honor  are  concerned." 

A  faint  tinge  appeared  for  a  moment  in  the  lady's  cheek, 
and  she  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  floor;  but  her  voice  betrayed 
no  emotion  when  she  proceeded — 

11  I  have  warned  yon,  I  must  still  warn  you,  to  go  hence. 
This  man  will  destroy  you,  else.  He  is  a  tyrant  who  knows 
no  pity.  I,  who  am  his  fettered  slave,  know  this.  Poor 
Miles,  and  Arthur,  and  my  dear  guardian,  Sir  Richard,  are 
free  of  him,  and  at  rest — better  that  you  were  with  them  than 
that  you  bide  here  in  the  clutches  of  this  miscreant.  Your 
pretensions  are  a  menace  to  his  title  and  possessions;  you 
have  assaulted  him  in  his  own  house — you  are  ruined  if  you 
stay.  Go — do  not  hesitate.  If  you  lack  money,  take  this 
purse,  I  beg  of  you,  and  bribe  the  servants  to  let  you  pass. 
O  be  warned,  poor  soul,  and  escape  while  you  may." 


DISOWNED.  221 

Miles  declined  the  purse  with  a  gesture,  and  rose  up  and 
stood  before  her. 

u  Grant  me  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  Let  your  eyes  rest  upon 
mine,  so  that  I  may  see  if  they  be  steady.  There — now  an 
swer  me.  Am  I  Miles  Hendon  ?  " 

"  No.     I  know  you  not." 

"Swear  it  !  " 

The  answer  was  low,  but  distinct — 

"  I  swear." 

"  O,  this  passes  belief  !  " 

"  Fly  !  Why  will  you  waste  the  precious  time  ?  Fly  and 
save  yourself." 

At  that  moment  the  officers  burst  into  the  room  and  a  vio 
lent  struggle  began;  but  Hendon  was  soon  overpowered  and 
dragged  away.  The  king  was  taken,  also,  and  both  were 
bound,  and  led  to  prison. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IN    PRISON. 

THE  cells  were  all  crowded;  so  the  two  friends  were 
chained  in  a  large  room  where  persons  charged  with  trifling 
offenses  were  commonly  kept.  They  had  company,  for  there 
were  some  twenty  manacled  and  fettered  prisoners  here,  of 
both  sexes  and  of  varying  ages, — an  obscene  and  noisy  gang. 
The  king  chafed  bitterly  over  the  stupendous  indignity  thus 
put  upon  his  royalty,  but  Hendon  was  moody  and  taciturn. 
He  was  pretty  thoroughly  bewildered.  He  had  come  home, 
a  jubilant  prodigal,  expecting  to  find  everybody  wild  with  joy 
over  his  return;  and  instead  had  got  the  cold  shoulder  and  a 
jail.  The  promise  and  the  fulfilment  differed  so  widely,  that 
the  effect  was  stunning;  he  could  not  decide  whether  it  was 
most  tragic  or  most  grotesque.  He  felt  much  as  a  man 
might  who  had  danced  blithely  out  to  enjoy  a  rainbow,  and 
got  struck  by  lightning. 

But  gradually  his  confused  and  tormenting  thoughts  set 
tled  .down  into  some  sort  of  order,  and  then  his  mind  centred 
itself  upon  Edith.  He  turned  her  conduct  over,  and  exam 
ined  it  in  all  lights,  but  he  could  not  make  any  thing  satis 
factory  out  of  it.  Did  she  know  him  ? — or  didn't  she  know 
him  ?  It  was  a  perplexing  puzzle,  and  occupied  him  a  long 
time;  but  he  ended,  finally,  with  the  conviction  that  she  did 
know  him,  and  had  repudiated  him  for  interested  reasons. 
He  wanted  to  load  her  name  with  curses  now;  but  this  name 
had  so  long  been  sacred  to  him  that  he  found  he  could  not 
bring  his  tongue  to  profane  it. 


IN    PRISON. 


223 


Wrapped  in  prison  blankets  of  a  soiled  and  tattered  condi 
tion,  Hendon  and  the  king  passed  a  troubled  night.  For  a 
bribe  the  jailer  had  furnished  liquor  to  some  of  the  prisoners; 
singing  of  ribald  songs,  fighting,  shouting,  and  carousing, 
was  the  natural  consequence.  At  last,  a  while  after  midnight, 
a  man  attacked  a  woman  and  nearly  killed  her  by  beating  her 


"  CHAINED   IN  A   LARGE   ROOM." 

over  the  head  with  his  manacles  before  the  jailer  could  come 
to  the  rescue.  The  jailer  restored  peace  by  giving  the  man 
a  sound  clubbing  about  the  head  and  shoulders— then  the 
carousing  ceased;  and  after  that,  all  had  an  opportunity  to 
sleep  who  did  not  mind  the  annoyance  of  the  meanings  and 
groanings  of  the  two  wounded  people. 


224  IN   PRISON. 

During  the  ensuing  week,  the  days  and  nights  were  of  a 
monotonous  sameness,  as  to  events;  men  whose  faces  Hen- 
don  remembered  more  or  less  distinctly,  came,  by  day,  to 
gaze  at  the  "  impostor  "  and  repudiate  and  insult  him;  and  by 
night  the  carousing  and  brawling  went  on,  with  symmetrical 
regularity.  However,  there  was  a  change  of  incident  at  last. 
The  jailer  brought  in  an  old  man,  and  said  to  him — 

"  The  villain  is  in  this  room — cast  thy  old  eyes  about  and 
see  if  thou  canst  say  which  is  he." 

Hendon  glanced  up,  and  experienced  a  pleasant  sensation 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  in  the  jail.  He  said  to 
himself,  "  This  is  Blake  Andrews,  a  servant  all  his  life  in  my 
father's  family — a  good  honest  soul,  with  a  right  heart  in  his 
breast.  That  is,  formerly.  But  none  are  true,  now;  all  are 
liars.  This  man  will  know  me — and  will  deny  me,  too,  like 
the  rest." 

The  old  man  gazed  around  the  room,  glanced  at  each  face 
in  turn,  and  finally  said — 

"  I  see  none  here  but  paltry  knaves,  scum  o'  the  streets. 
Which  is  he?  " 

The  jailer  laughed. 

"  Here,"  he  said;  "  scan  this  big  animal,  and  grant  me  an 
opinion." 

The  old  man  approached,  and  looked  Hendon  over,  long 
and  earnestly,  then  shook  his  head  and  said— 

"  Marry,  this  is  no  Hendon — nor  ever  was  !  " 

"  Right  !  Thy  old  eyes  are  sound  yet.  An'  I  were  Sir 
Hugh,  I  would  take  the  shabby  carle  and  " — 

The  jailer  finished  by  lifting  himself  a-tip-toe  with  an  im 
aginary  halter,  at  the  same  time  making  a  gurgling  noise  in 
his  throat  suggestive  of  suffocation.  The  old  man  said,  vin 
dictively — 

"  Let  him  bless  God  an'  he  fare  no  worse.  An'  /had  the 
handling  o'  the  villain,  he  should  roast,  or  I  am  no  true  man  !" 


IN   PRISON.  225 

The  jailer  laughed  a  pleasant  hyena  laugh,  and  said— 

u  Give  him  a  piece  of  thy  mind,  old  man — they  all  do  it. 
Thou' It  find  it  good  diversion." 

Then  he  sauntered  toward  his  ante-room  and  disappeared. 
The  old  man  dropped  upon  his  knees  arid  whispered — 

"  God  be  thanked,  thou'rt  come  again,  my  master  !  I  be 
lieved  thou  wert  dead  these  seven  years,  and  lo,  here  thou 
art  alive  !  I  knew  thee  the  moment  I  saw  thee;  and  main 
hard  work  it  was  to  keep  a  stony  countenance  and  seem  to 
see  none  here  but  tuppenny  knaves  and  rubbish  o'  the  streets. 
I  am  old  and  poor,  Sir  Miles;  but  say  the  word  and  I  will  go 
forth  and  proclaim  the  truth  though  I  be  strangled  for  it." 

"  No,"  said  Hendon;  "  thou  shalt  not.  It  would  ruin  thee, 
and  yet  help  but  little  in  my  cause.  But  I  thank  thee;  for 
thou  hast  given  me  back  somewhat  of  my  lost  faith  in  my 
kind." 

The  old  servant  became  very  valuable  to  Hendon  and  the 
king;  for  he  dropped  in  several  times  a  day  to  "abuse"  the 
former,  and  always  smuggled  in  a  few  delicacies  to  help  out 
the  prison  bill  of  fare;  he  also  furnished  the  current  news. 
Hendon  reserved  the  dainties  for  the  king;  without  them  his 
majesty  might  riot  have  survived,  for  he  was  not  able  to  eat 
the  coarse  and  wretched  food  provided  by  the  jailer.  An 
drews  was  obliged  to  confine  himself  to  brief  visits,  in  order 
to  avoid  suspicion;  but  he  managed  to  impart  a  fair  degree 
of  information  each  time — information  delivered  in  a  low 
voice,  for  Hendon's  benefit,  and  interlarded  with  insulting  ep 
ithets  delivered  in  a  louder  voice,  for  the  benefit  of  other 
hearers. 

So,  little  by  little,  the  story  of  the  family  came  out.  Ar 
thur  had  been  dead  six  years.  This  loss,  with  the  absence  of 
news  from  Hendon,  impaired  the  father's  health;  he  believed 
he  was  going  to  die,  and  he  wished  to  see  Hugh  and  Edith 
settled  in  life  before  he  passed  away;  but  Edith  begged  hard 


226  IN   PRISON. 

for  delay,  hoping  for  Miles's  return;  then  the  letter  came 
which  brought  the  news  of  Miles's  death;  the  shock  pros 
trated  Sir  Richard;  he  believed  his  end  was  very  near,  and 
he  and  Hugh  insisted  upon  the  marriage;  Edith  begged  for 
and  obtained  a  month's  respite;  then  another,  and  finally  a 
third;  the  marriage  then  took  place,  by  the  death-bed  of  Sir 
Richard.  It  had  not  proved  a  happy  one.  It  was  whispered 


"  INFORMATION    DELIVERED    IN   A    LOW    VOICE." 

about  the  country  that  shortly  after  the  nuptials  the  bride 
found  among  her  husband's  papers  several  rough  and  incom 
plete  drafts  of  the  fatal  letter,  and  had  accused  him  of  pre 
cipitating  the  marriage— and  Sir  Richard's  death,  too — by  a 
wicked  forgery.  Tales  of  cruelty  to  the  lady  Edith  and  the 
servants  were  to  be  heard  on  all  hands;  and  since  the  father's 
death  Sir  Hugh  had  thrown  off  all  soft  disguises  and  become 


IN   PRISON.  227 

a  pitiless  master  toward  all  who  in  any  way  depended  upon 
him  and  his  domains  for  bread. 

There  was  a  bit  of  Andrews's  gossip  which  the  king  listened 
to  with  a  lively  interest — 

"  There  is  rumor  that  the  king  is  mad.  But  in  charity  for 
bear  to  say  /  mentioned  it,  for  'tis  death  to  speak  of  it,  they 
say." 

His  majesty  glared  at  the  old  man  and  said — 

"  The  king  is  not  mad,  good  man— and  thou'lt  find  it  to  thy 
advantage  to  busy  thyself  with  matters  that  nearer  concern 
thee  than  this  seditious  prattle." 

"  What  doth  the  lad  mean  ?"  said  Andrews,  surprised  at  this 
brisk  assault  from  such  an  unexpected  quarter.  Hendon 
gave  him  a  sign,  and  he  did  not  pursue  his  question,  but  went 
on  with  his  budget — 

"  The  late  king  is  to  be  buried  at  Windsor  in  a  day  or  two 
— the  1 6th  of  the  month, — and  the  new  king  will  be  crowned 
at  Westminster  the  2oth." 

"  Methinks  they  must  needs  find  him  first,"  muttered  his 
majesty;  then  added,  confidently,  "  but  they  will  look  to  that 
— and  so  also  shall  I." 

"  In  the  name  of  " — 

But  the  old  man  got  no  further — a  warning  sign  from  Hen 
don  checked  his  remark.  He  resumed  the  thread  of  his  gos 
sip— 

"Sir  Hugh  goeth  to  the  coronation — and  with  grand  hopes. 
He  confidently  looketh  to  come  back  a  peer,  for  he  is  high 
in  favor  with  the  Lo.rd  Protector." 

"What  Lord  Protector?  "  asked  his  majesty. 

"  His  grace  the  Duke  of  Somerset." 

"  What  Duke  of  Somerset?  " 

"  Marry,  there  is  but  one — Seymour,  Earl  of  Hertford." 

The  king  asked,  sharply — 

;<  Since  when  is  he  a  duke,  and  Lord  Protector  ? " 


228 


IN   PRISON. 


"  Since  the  last  day  of  January." 
"  And  prithee  who  made  him  so  ?  " 

"  Himself  and  the  Great  Council — with  help  of  the  king." 
His   majesty  started  violently.     "The   king!"  he  cried. 
"  What  king,  good  sir?" 


THE   KING!"   HE   CRIED.       "WHAT   KING?" 


"What  king,  indeed  !  (God-a-mercy,  what  aileth  the 
boy  ?)  Sith  we  have  but  one,  'tis  not  difficult  to  answer — his 
most  sacred  majesty  King  Edward  the  Sixth — whom  God 
preserve  !  Yea,  and  a  dear  and  gracious  little  urchin  is  he, 
too;  and  whether  he  be  mad  or  no — and  they  say  he  mendeth 
daily — his  praises  are  on  all  men's  lips;  and  all  bless  him, 
likewise,  and  offer  prayers  that  he  may  be  spared  to  reign 
long  in  England;  for  he  began  humanely,  with  saving  the  old 


IN   PRISON.  229 

duke  of  Norfolk's  life,  and  now  is  he  bent  on  destroying  the 
crudest  of  the  laws  that  harry  and  oppress  the  people." 

This  news  struck  his  majesty  dumb  with  amazement,  and 
plunged  him  into  so  deep  and  dismal  a  revery  that  he  heard 
no  more  of  the  old  man's  gossip.  He  wondered  if  the  "  little 
urchin  "  was  the  beggar-boy  whom  he  left  dressed  in  his  own 
garments  in  the  palace.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that  this 
could  be,  for  surely  his  manners  and  speech  would  betray  him 
if  he  pretended  to  be  the  prince  of  Wales — then  he  would  be 
driven  out,  and  search  made  for  the  true  prince.  Could  it  be 
that  the  Court  had  set  up  some  sprig  of  the  nobility  in  his 
place  ?  No,  for  his  uncle  would  not  allow  that — he  was  all- 
powerful  and  could  and  would  crush  such  a  movement,  of 
course.  The  boy's  musings  profited  him  nothing;  the  more 
he  tried  to  unriddle  the  mystery  the  more  perplexed  he  be 
came,  the  more  his  head  ached,  and  the  worse  he  slept.  His 
impatience  to  get  to  London  grew  hourly,  and  his  captivity 
became  almost  unendurable. 

Hendon's  arts  all  failed  with  the  king — he  could  not  be 
comforted,  but  a  couple  of  women  who  were  chained  near 
him,  succeeded  better.  Under  their  gentle  ministrations  he 
found  peace  and  learned  a  degree  of  patience.  He  was  very 
grateful,  and  came  to  love  them  dearly  and  to  delight  in  the 
sweet  and  soothing  influence  of  their  presence.  He  asked 
them  why  they  were  in  prison,  and  when  they  said  they  were 
Baptists,  he  smiled,  and  inquired— 

"  Is  that  a  crime  to  be  shut  up  for,  in  a  prison  ?  Now  I 
grieve,  for  I  shall  lose  ye — they  will  not  keep  ye  long  for 
such  a  little  thing." 

They  did  not  answer;  and  something  in  their  faces  made 
him  uneasy.  He  said,  eagerly — 

"  You  do  not  speak — be  good  to  me,  and  tell  me — there 
will  be  no  other  punishment  ?  Prithee  tell  me  there  is  no 
fear  of  that." 


230  IN  PRISON. 

They  tried  to  change  the  topic,  but  his  fears  were  aroused, 
and  he  pursued  it — 

"  Will  they  scourge  thee  ?  No,  no,  they  would  not  be  so 
cruel  !  Say  they  would  not.  Come,  they  will  not,  will 
they?" 

The  women  betrayed  confusion  and  distress,  but  there  was 
no  avoiding  an  answer,  so  one  of  them  said,  in  a  voice  choked 
with  emotion — 

"  O,  thou'lt  break  our  hearts,  thou  gentle  spirit !  God  will 
help  us  to  bear  our  "- 

"  It  is  a  confession  !  "  the  king  broke  in.  "  Then  they  will 
scourge  thee,  the  stonyhearted  wretches  !  But  O,  thou  must 
not  weep,  I  cannot  bear  it.  Keep  up  thy  courage — I  shall 
come  to  my  own  in  time  to  save  thee  from  this  bitter  thing, 
and  I  will  do  it  !  " 

When  the  king  awoke  in  the  morning,  the  women  were 
gone. 

"They  are  saved  !"  he  said,  joyfully;  then  added,  des 
pondently,  "but  woe  is  me  ! — for  they  were  my  comforters." 

Each  of  them  had  left  a  shred  of  ribbon  pinned  to  his 
clothing,  in  token  of  remembrance.  He  said  he  would  keep 
these  things  always;  and  that  soon  he  would  seek  out  these 
dear  good  friends  of  his  and  take  them  under  his  protection. 

Just  then  the  jailer  came  in  with  some  subordinates  and 
commanded  that  the  prisoners  be  conducted  to  the  jail-yard. 
The  king  was  overjoyed — it  would  be  a  blessed  thing  to  see 
the  blue  sky  and  breathe  the  fresh  air  once  more.  He  fretted 
and  chafed  at  the  slowness  of  the  officers,  but  his  turn  came 
at  last  and  he  was  released  from  his  staple  and  ordered  to 
follow  the  other  prisoners,  with  Hendon. 

The  court  or  quadrangle,  was  stone-paved,  and  open  to  the 
sky.  The  prisoners  entered  it  through  a  massive  archway  of 
masonry,  and  were  placed  in  file,  standing,  with  their  backs 
against  the  wall.  A  rope  was  stretched  in  front  of  them,  and 


IN    PRISON. 


231 


they  were  also  guarded  by  their  officers.       It  was  a  chill  and 

lowering   morning,  and  a  light  snow  which  had  fallen  during 

the  night  whitened  the  great  empty  space  and  added  to  the 

general  dismalness 

of  its  aspect.     Now 

•and  then  a  wintry 

wind     shivered 

through    the    place 

and    sent   the    snow 

eddying    hither  and 

thither. 

In  the  centre  of 
the  court  stood  two 
women,  chained  to 
posts.  A  glance 
showed  the  king  that 
these  were  his  good 
friends.  He  shud 
dered,  and  said  to 
himself,  "  Alack, 
they  are  not  gone 
free,  as  I  had 
thought.  To  think 
that  such  as  these 
should  know  the 
lash! — in  England  ! 
Ay  there's  the  shame 
of  it — not  in  Heath 
enesse,  but  Christian 
England!  They 

will  be  scourged;  and  I,  whom  they  have  comforted  and 
kindly  entreated,  must  look  on  and  see  the  great  wrong  done; 
it  is  strange,  so  strange  !  that  I,  the  very  source  of  power  in 
this  broad  realm,  am  helpless  to  protect  them.  But  let  these 


TWO    WOMEN    CHAINED    TO    POSTS.'* 


232  IN   PRISON. 

miscreants  look  well  to  themselves,  for  there  is  a  day  coming 
when  I  will  require  of  them  a  heavy  reckoning  for  this  work. 
For  every  blow  they  strike  now,  they  shall  feel  a  hundred, 
then." 

A  great  gate  swung  open  and  a  crowd  of  citizens  poured  in. 
They  flocked  around  the  two  women,  and  hid  them  from  the 
king's  view.  A  clergyman  entered  and  passed  through  the 
crowd,  and  he  also  was  hidden.  The  king  now  heard  talk 
ing,  back  and  forth,  as  if  questions  were  being  asked  and 
answered,  but  he  could  not  make  out  what  was  said.  Next 
there  was  a  deal  of  bustle  and  preparation,  and  much  passing 
and  repassing  of  officials  through  that  part  of  the  crowd  that 
stood  on  the  further  side  of  the  women;  and  whilst  this  pro 
ceeded  a  deep  hush  gradually  fell  upon  the  people. 

Now,  by  command,  the  masses  parted  and  fell  aside,  and 
the  king  saw  a  spectacle  that  froze  the  marrow  in  his  bones. 
Fagots  had  been  piled  about  the  two  women,  and  a  kneeling 
man  was  lighting  them  ! 

The  women  bowed  their  heads,  and  covered  their  faces 
with  their  hands;  the  yellow  flames  began  to  climb  upward 
among  the  snapping  and  crackling  fagots,  and  wreaths  of  blue 
smoke  to  stream  away  on  the  wind;  the  clergyman  lifted  his 
hands  and  began  a  prayer — just  then  two  young  girls  came 
flying  through  the  great  gate,  uttering  piercing  screams,  and 
threw  themselves  upon  the  women  at  the  stake.  Instantly 
they  were  torn  away  by  the  officers,  and  one  of  them  was 
kept  in  a  tight  grip,  but  the  other  broke  loose,  saying  she 
would  die  with  her  mother;  and  before  she  could  be  stopped 
she  had  flung  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck  again.  She 
was  torn  away  once  more,  and  with  her  gown  on  fire.  Two 
or  three  men  held  her,  and  the  burning  portion  of  her  gown 
was  snatched  off  and  thrown  flaming  aside,  she  struggling  all 
the  while  to  free  herself,  and  saying  she  would  be  alone  in 
the  world,  now,  and  begging  to  be  allowed  to  die  with  her 


IN   PRISON.  233 

mother.  Both  the  girls  screamed  continually,  and  fought  for 
freedom;  but  suddenly  this  tumult  was  drowned  under  a  vol 
ley  of  heart-piercing  shrieks  of  mortal  agony, — the  king 
glanced  from  the  frantic  girls  to  the  stake,  then  turned  away 
and  leaned  his  ashen  face  against  the  wall,  and  looked  no 
more.  He  said,  "  That  which  I  have  seen,  in  that  one  little 
moment,  will  never  go  out  from  my  memory,  but  will  abide 
there;  and  I  shall  see  it  all  the  days,  and  dream  of  it  all  the 
nights,  till  I  die.  Would  God  I  had  been  blind  !  " 

Hendon  was  watching  the  king.  He  said  to  himself,  with 
satisfaction,  "  His  disorder  mendeth;  he  hath  changed,  and 
groweth  gentler.  If  he  had  followed  his  wont,  he  would  have 
stormed  at  these  varlets,  and  said  he  was  king,  and  command 
ed  that  the  women  be  turned  loose  unscathed.  Soon  his  de 
lusion  will  pass  away  and  be  forgotten,  and  his  poor  mind 
will  be  whole  again.  God  speed  the  day  !  " 

That  same  day  several  prisoners  were  brought  in  to  remain 
over  night,  who  were  being  conveyed,  under  guard,  to  vari 
ous  places  in  the  kingdom,  to  undergo  punishment  for  crimes 
committed.  The  king  conversed  with  these, — he  had  made 
it  a  point,  from  the  beginning,  to  instruct  himself  for  the 
kingly  office  by  questioning  prisoners  whenever  the  oppor 
tunity  offered — and  the  tale  of  their  woes  wrung  his  heart. 
One  of  them  was  a  poor  half-witted  woman  who  had  stolen 
a  yard  or  two  of  cloth  from  a  weaver — she  was  to  be  hanged 
for  it.  Another  was  a  man  who  had  been  accused  of  stealing 
a  horse;  he  said  the  proof  had  failed,  and  he  had  imagined 
that  he  was  safe  from  the  halter;  but  no — he  was  hardly  free 
before  he  was  arraigned  for  killing  a  deer  in  the  king's  park; 
this  was  proved  against  him,  and  now  he  was  on  his  way  to 
the  gallows.  There  was  a  tradesman's  apprentice  whose  case 
particularly  distressed  the  king;  this  youth  said  he  found  a 
hawk,  one  evening,  that  had  escaped  from  its  owner,  and  he 
took  it  home  with  him,  imagining  himself  entitled  to  it;  but 


234  IN   PRISON. 

the  court  convicted  him  of  stealing  it,  and  sentenced  him  to 
death. 

The  king  was  furious  over  these  inhumanities,  and  wanted 
Hendon  to  break  jail  and  fly  with  him  to  Westminster,  so 
that  he  could  mount  his  throne  and  hold  out  his  sceptre  in 
mercy  over  these  unfortunate  people  and  save  their  lives. 
"  Poor  child,"  sighed  Hendon,  "  these  woful  tales  have  brought 
his  malady  upon  him  again — alack,  but  for  this  evil  hap,  he 
would  have  been  well  in  a  little  time." 

Among  these  prisoners  was  an  old  lawyer — a  man  with  a 
strong  face  and  a  dauntless  mien.  Three  years  past,  he  had 
written  a  pamphlet  against  the  Lord  Chancellor,  accusing  him 
of  injustice,  and  had  been  punished  for  it  by  the  loss  of  his 
ears  in  the  pillory,  and  degradation  from  the  bar,  and  in  ad 
dition  had  been  fined  ^3000  and  sentenced  to  imprisonment 
for  life.  Lately  he  had  repeated  his  offence;  and  in  conse 
quence  was  now  under  sentence  to  lose  what  remained  of  his 
ears,  pay  a  fine  of  ^£5000  pounds,  be  branded  on  both  cheeks, 
and  remain  in  prison  for  life. 

"  These  be  honorable  scars,"  he  said,  and  turned  back  his 
gray  hair  and  showed  the  mutilated  stubs  of  what  had  once 
been  his  ears. 

The  king's  eye  burned  with  passion.     He  said — 

"  None  believe  in  me — neither  wilt  thou.  But  no  matter- 
within  the  compass  of  a  month  thou  shalt  be  free;  and  more, 
the  laws  that  have  dishonored  thee,  and  shamed  the  English 
name,  shall  be  swept  from  the  statute  books.  The  world  is 
made  wrong,  kings  should  go  to  school  to  their  own  laws,  at 
times,  and  so  learn  mercy."* 

*J5ee  Notes  to  Chapter  27,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE     SACRIFICE. 

MEANTIME  Miles  was  growing  sufficiently  tired  of  confine 
ment  and  inaction.  But  now  his  trial  came  on,  to  his  great 
gratification,  and  he  thought  he  could  welcome  any  sentence 
provided  a  further  imprisonment  should  not  be  a  part  of  it. 
But  he  was  mistaken  about  that.  He  was  in  a  fine  fury  when 
he  found  himself  described  as  a  "  sturdy  vagabond  "  and  sen 
tenced  to  sit  two  hours  in  the  pillory  for  bearing  that  charac 
ter  and  for  assaulting  the  master  of  Hendon  Hall.  His  pre 
tensions  as  to  brothership  with  his  prosecutor,  and  rightful 
heirship  to  the  Hendon  honors  and  estates,  were  left  con 
temptuously  unnoticed,  as  being  not  even  worth  examina 
tion. 

He  raged  and  threatened,  on  his  way  to  punishment,  but 
it  did  no  good;  he  was  snatched  roughly  along,  by  the  of 
ficers,  and  got  an  occasional  cuff,  besides,  for  his  unreverent 
conduct. 

The  king  could  not  pierce  through  the  rabble  that  swarm 
ed  behind;  so  he  was  obliged  to  follow  in  the  rear,  remote 
from  his  good  friend  and  servant.  The  king  had  been  nearly 
condemned  to  the  stocks,  himself,  for  being  in  such  bad 
company,  but  had  been  let  off  with  a  lecture  and  a  warning, 
in  consideration  of  his  youth.  When  the  crowd  at  last  halt 
ed,  he  flitted  feverishly  from  point  to  point  around  its  outer 
rim,  hunting  a  place  to  get  through;  arid  at  last,  .after  a  deal 
of  difficulty  and  delay,  succeeded.  There  sat  his  poor  hench 
man  in  the  degrading  stocks,  the  sport  and  butt  of  a  dirty 

235 


236  THE  SACRIFICE. 

mob — he,  the  body  servant  of  the  king  of  England  !  Ed 
ward  had  heard  the  sentence  pronounced,  but  he  had  not 
realized  the  half  that  it  meant.  His  anger  began  to  rise  as 
the  sense  of  this  new  indignity  which  had  been  put  upon  him 
sank  home;  it  jumped  to  summer  heat,  the  next  moment, 
when  he  saw  an  egg  sail  through  the  air  and  crush  itself 
against  Hendon's  cheek,  and  heard  the  crowd  roar  its  enjoy 
ment  of  the  episode.  He  sprang  across  the  open  circle  and 
confronted  the  officer  in  charge,  crying — 

"  For  shame !  This  is  my  servant — set  him  free !  I  am  the — " 

"  O,  peace  !  "  exclaimed  Hendon,  in  a  panic,  "  thou'lt  de 
stroy  thyself.  Mind  him  not,  officer,  he  is  mad." 

"Give  thyself  no  trouble  as  to  the  matter  of  minding  him, 
good  man,  I  have  small  mind  to  mind  him;  but  as  to  teach 
ing  him  somewhat,  to  that  I  am  well  inclined."  He  turned 
to  a  subordinate  and  said,  ''Give  the  little  fool  a  taste  or 
two  of  the  lash,  to  mend  his  manners/' 

"  Half  a  dozen  will  better  serve  his  turn/ '  suggested  Sir 
Hugh,  who  had  ridden  up,  a  moment  before,  to  take  a  pass 
ing  glance  at  the  proceedings. 

The  king  was  seized.  He  did  not  even  struggle,  so  para 
lyzed  was  he  with  the  mere  thought  of  the  monstrous  outrage 
that  was  proposed  to  be  inflicted  upon  his  sacred  person. 
History  was  already  defiled  with  the  record  of  the  scourging 
of  an  English  king  with  whips— it  was  an  intolerable  reflec 
tion  that  he  must  furnish  a  duplicate  of  that  shameful  page. 
He  was  in  the  toils,  there  was  no  help  for  him:  he  must 
either  take  this  punishment  or  beg  for  its  remission.  Hard 
conditions;  he  would  take  the  stripes— a  king  might  do  that, 
but  a  king  could  not  beg. 

But  meantime,  Miles  Hendon  was  resolving  the  difficulty. 
"  Let  the  child  go/'  said  he;  "  ye  heartless  dogs,  do  ye  not 
see  how  young  and  frail  he  is  ?  Let  him  go — I  will  take  his 
lashes." 


THE   SACRIFICE. 


237 


"  Marry,  a  good  thought, — and  thanks  for  it,"  said  Sir 
Hugh,  his  face  lighting  with  a  sardonic  satisfaction.  "  Let 
the  little  beggar  go,  and  give  this  fellow  a  dozen  in  his  place 


"WHILE  THE  LASH  WAS  APPLIED,  THE  POOR  KING  TURNED 
AWAY  HIS  FACE." 

— an  honest  dozen,  well  laid  on."  The  king  was  in  the  act 
of  entering  a  fierce  protest,  but  Sir  Hugh  silenced  him  with 
the  potent  remark,  "  Yes,  speak  up,  do,  and  free  thy  mind — 


238  THE   SACRIFICE. 

only,  mark  ye,  that  for  each  word  you  utter  he  shall  get  six 
strokes  the  more." 

Hendon  was  removed  from  the  stocks,  and  his  back  laid 
bare;  and  whilst  the  lash  was  applied  the  poor  little  king 
turned  away  his  face  and  allowed  unroyal  tears  to  channel 
his  cheeks  unchecked.  "  Ah,  brave  good  heart,"  he  said  to 
himself,  u  this  loyal  deed  shall  never  perish  out  of  my  mem 
ory.  I  will  not  forget  it— and  neither  shall  t/ieyf"he  added, 
with  passion.  Whilst  he  mused,  his  appreciation  of  Hendon's 
magnanimous  conduct  grew  to  greater  and  still  greater  dimen 
sions  in  his  mind,  and  so  also  did  his  gratefulness  for  it. 
Presently  he  said  to  himself,  "  Who  saves  his  prince  from 
wounds  and  possible  death— and  this  he  did  for  me— per 
forms  high  service;  but  it  is  little— it  is  nothing  !—O,  less 
than  nothing  ! — when  'tis  weighed  against  the  act  of  him  who 
saves  his  prince  from  SHAME  !  " 

Hendon  made  no  outcry,  tinder  the  scourge,  but  bore  the 
heavy  blows  with  soldierly  fortitude.  This,  together  with 
his  redeeming  the  boy  by  taking  his  stripes  for  him,  com 
pelled  the  respect  of  even  that  forlorn  and  degraded  mob 
that  was  gathered  there;  and  its  gibes  and  hootings  died 
away,  and  no  sound  remained  but  the  sound  of  the  falling 
blows.  The  stillness  that  pervaded  the  place,  when  Hendon 
found  himself  once  more  in  the  stocks,  was  in  strong  contrast 
with  the  insulting  clamor  which  had  prevailed  there  so  little 
a  while  before.  The  king  came  softly  to  Hendon's  side,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear — 

u  Kings  cannot  -ennoble  thee,  thou  good,  great  soul,  for 
One  who  is  higher  than  kings  hath  done  that  for  thee;  but  a 
king  can  confirm  thy  nobility  to  men."  He  picked  up  the 
scourge  from  the  ground,  touched  Hendon's  bleeding  shoul 
ders  lightly  with  it,  and  whispered,  "  Edward  of  England 
dubs  thee  earl  !  " 

Hendon  was  touched.     The  water  welled  to  his  eyes,  yet 


THE   SACRIFICE.  239 

at  the  same  time  the  grisly  humor  of  the  situation  and  cir 
cumstances  so  undermined  his  gravity  that  it  was  all  he  could 
do  to  keep  some  sign  of  his  inward  mirth  from  showing  out 
side.  To  be  suddenly  hoisted,  naked  and  gory,  from  the 
common  stocks  to  the  Alpine  altitude  and  splendor  of  an  Earl 
dom,  seemed  to  him  the  last  possibility  in  the  line  of  the  gro 
tesque.  He  said  to  himself,  "  Now  am  I  finely  tinselled,  in 
deed  !  The  spectre-knight  of  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and 
Shadows  is  become  a  spectre-earl  ! — a  dizzy  flight  for  a  cal 
low  wing  !  An'  this  go  on,  I  shall  presently  be  hung  like  a 
very  may-pole  with  fantastic  gauds  and  make-believe  hon 
ors.  But  I  shall  value  them,  all  valueless  as  they  are,  for  the 
love  that  doth  bestow  them.  Better  these  poor  mock  digni 
ties  of  mine,  that  come  unasked,  from  a  clean  hand  and  a 
right  spirit,  than  real  ones  bought  by  servility  from  grudging 
and  interested  power." 

The  dreaded  Sir  Hugh  wheeled  his  horse  about,  and  as  he 
spurred  away,  the  living  wall  divided  silently  to  let  him  pass, 
and  as  silently  closed  together  again.  And  so  remained;  no 
body  went  so  far  as  to  venture  a  remark  in  favor  of  the  pris 
oner,  or  in  compliment  to  him;  but  no  matter,  the  absence  of 
abuse  was  a  sufficient  homage  in  itself.  A  late  comer  who 
was  not  posted  as  to  the  present  circumstances,  and  who  de 
livered  a  sneer  at  the  "  impostor"  and  was  in  the  act  of  fol 
lowing  it  with  a  dead  cat,  was  promptly  knocked  down  and 
kicked  out,  without  any  words,  and  then  the  deep  quiet  re- 
sumed  sway  once  more. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

TO    LONDON 

WHEN  Hendon's  term  of  service  in  the  stocks  was  finished, 
he  was  released  and  ordered  to  quit  the  region  and  come 
back  no  more.  His  sword  was  restored  to  him,  and  also 
his  mule  and  his  donkey.  He  mounted  and  rode  off,  fol 
lowed  by  the  king,  the  crowd  opening  with  quiet  respectful 
ness  to  let  them  pass,  and  then  dispersing  when  they  were 
gone. 

Hendon  was  soon  absorbed  in  thought.  There  were  ques 
tions  of  high  import  to  be  answered.  What  should  he  do? 
Whither  should  he  go  ?  Powerful  help  must  be  found,  some 
where,  or  he  must  relinquish  his  inheritance  and  remain  un 
der  the  imputation  of  being  an  impostor  besides.  Where 
could  he  hope  to  find  this  powerful  help  ?  Where,  indeed  ! 
It  was  a  knotty  question.  By  and  by  a  thought  occurred  to 
him  which  pointed  to  a  possibility — the  slenderest  of  slender 
possibilities,  certainly,  but  still  worth  considering,  for  lack  of 
any  other  that  promised  any  thing  at  all.  He  remembered 
what  old  Andrews  had  said  about  the  young  king's  goodness 
and  his  generous  championship  of  the  wronged  and  unfortu 
nate.  Why  not  go  and  try  to  get  speech  of  him  and  beg  for 
justice  ?  Ah,  yes,  but  could  so  fantastic  a  pauper  get  admis 
sion  to  the  august  presence  of  a  monarch  ?  Never  mind — 
let  that  matter  take  care  of  itself;  it  was  a  bridge  that  would 
not  need  to  be  crossed  till  he  should  come  to  it.  He  was  an 
old  campaigner,  and  used  to  inventing  shifts  and  expedients; 
no  doubt  he  would  be  able  to  find  a  way.  Yes,  he  would 

240 


TO    LONDON.  241 

strike  for  the  capital.  Maybe  his  father's  old  friend  Sir  Hum 
phrey  Marlow  would  help  him — "  good  old  Sir  Humphrey, 
Head  Lieutenant  of  the  late  king's  kitchen,  or  stables,  or 
something" — Miles  could  not  remember  just  what  or  which. 
Now  that  he  had  something  to  turn  his  energies  to,  a  distinct 
ly  defined  object  to  accomplish,  the  fog  of  humiliation  and 
depression  which  had  settled  down  upon  his  spirits  lifted  and 
blew  away,  and  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him. 
He  was  surprised  to  see  how  far  he  had  come;  the  village  was 
away  behind  him.  The  king  was  jogging  along  in  his  wake, 
with  his  head  bowed;  for  he,  too,  was  deep  in  plans  and 
thinkings.  A  sorrowful  misgiving  clouded  Hendon's  new 
born  cheerfulness:  would  the  boy  be  willing  to  go  again  to  a 
city  where,  during  all  his  brief  life,  he  had  never  known  any 
thing  but  ill  usage  and  pinching  want  ?  But  the  question 
must  be  asked;  it  could  not  be  avoided;  so  Hendon  reined 
up,  and  called  out — 

"  I  had  forgotten  to  inquire  whither  we  are  bound.  Thy 
commands,  my  liege  !  " 

"  To  London  !  " 

Hendon  moved  on  again,  mightily  contented  with  the  an 
swer — but  astounded  at  it,  too. 

The  whole  journey  was  made  without  an  adventure  of  im 
portance.  But  it  ended  with  one.  About  ten  o'clock  on  the 
night  of  the  i9th  of  February,  they  stepped  upon  London 
Bridge,  in  the  midst  of  a  writhing,  struggling  jam  of  howling 
and  hurrahing  people,  whose  beer-jolly  faces  stood  out  strong 
ly  in  the  glare  from  manifold  torches — and  at  that  instant  the 
decaying  head  of  some  former  duke  or  other  grandee  tum 
bled  down  between  them,  striking  Hendon  on  the  elbow  and 
then  bounding  off  among  the  hurrying  confusion  of  feet.  So 
evanescent  and  unstable  are  men's  works,  in  this  world  ! — the 
late  good  king  is  but  three  weeks  dead  and  three  days  in  his 
grave,  and  already  the  adornments  which  he  took  such  pains 


242      „  TO   LONDON. 

to  select  from  prominent  people  for  his  noble  bridge  are  fall 
ing.  A  citizen  stumbled  over  that  head,  and  drove  his  own 
head  into  the  back  of  somebody  in  front  of  him,  who  turned 
and  knocked  down  the  first  person  that  came  handy,  and  was 
promptly  laid  out  himself  by  that  person's  friend.  It  was  the 
right  ripe  time  for  a  free  fight,  for  the  festivities  of  the  mor 
row—Coronation  Day — were  already  beginning;  everybody 
was  full  of  strong  drink  and  patriotism;  within  five  minutes 
the  free  fight  was  occupying  a  good  deal  of  ground;  within 
ten  or  twelve  it  covered  an  acre  or  so,  and  was  become  a  riot. 
By  this  time  Hendon  and  the  king  were  hopelessly  separated 
from  each  other  and  lost  in  the  rush  and  turmoil  of  the  roar 
ing  masses  of  humanity.  And  so  we  leave  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

TOM'S    PROGRESS. 

WHILST  the  true  King  wandered  about  the  land  poorly 
clad,  poorly  fed,  cuffed  and  derided  by  tramps  one  while, 
herding  with  thieves  and  murderers  in  a  jail  another,  and 
called  idiot  and  impostor  by  all  impartially,  the  mock  King 
Tom  Canty  enjoyed  a  quite  different  experience. 

When  we  saw  him  last,  royalty  was  just  beginning  to  have 
a  bright  side  for  him.  This  bright  side  went  on  brightening 
more  and  more  every  day:  in  a  very  little  while  it  was  become 
almost  all  sunshine  and  delight-fulness.  He  lost  his  fears; 
his  misgivings  faded  out  and  died;  his  embarrassments 
departed,  and  gave  place  to  an  easy  and  confident  bearing. 
He  worked  the  whipping-boy  mine  to  ever-increasing  profit. 

He  ordered  my  Lady  Elizabeth  and  my  Lady  Jane  Grey 
into  his  presence  when  he  wanted  to  play  or  talk,  and  dis 
missed  them  when  he  was  done  with  them,  with  the  air  of 
one  familiarly  accustomed  to  such  performances.  It  no  longer 
confused  him  to  have  these  lofty  personages  kiss  his  hand 
at  parting. 

He  came  to  enjoy  being  conducted  to  bed  in  state  at  night, 
and  dressed  with  intricate  and  solemn  ceremony  in  the  morn 
ing.  It  came  to  be  a  proud  pleasure  to  march  to  dinner 
attended  by  a  glittering  procession  of  officers  of  state  and 
gentlemen-at-arms;  insomuch,  indeed,  that  he  doubled  his 
guard  of  gentlemen-at-arms,  and  made  them  a  hundred.  He 
liked  to  hear  the  bugles  sounding  down  the  long  corridors, 
and  the  distant  voices  responding,  "  Way  for  the  King  !  " 

243 


244 


TOMS  PROGRESS. 


He  even  learned  to  enjoy  sitting  in  throned  state  in  coun 
cil,  and  seeming  to  be  something  more  than  the  Lord  Pro 
tector's  mouth-piece.  He  liked  to  receive  great  ambassadors 
and  their  gorgeous  trains,  and  listen  to  the  affectionate  mes 
sages  they  brought  from  illustrious  monarchs  who  called  him 
"  brother."  O  happy  Tom  Canty,  late  of  Offal  Court  ! 

He  enjoyed  his  splendid  clothes,  and   ordered  more:  he 


"  COMMANDED    HER    TO    GO    TO    HER    CLOSET.' 


found  his  four  hundred  servants  too  few  for  his  proper  gran 
deur,  and  trebled  them.  The  adulation  of  salaaming  courtiers 
came  to  be  sweet  music  to  his  ears.  He  remained  kind  and 
gentle,  and  a  sturdy  and  determined  champion  of  all  that 
were  oppressed,  and  he  made  tireless  war  upon  unjust  laws: 
yet  upon  occasion,  being  offended,  he  could  turn  upon  an 
earl,  or  even  a  duke,  and  give  him  a  look  that  would  make 


TOM'S   PROGRESS.  245 

him  tremble.  Once,  when  his  royal  "  sister,"  the  grimly, 
holy  Lady  Mary,  set  herself  to  reason  with  him  against  the 
wisdom  of  his  course  in  pardoning  so  many  people  who  would 
otherwise  be  jailed,  or  hanged,  or  burned,  and  reminded  him 
that  their  august  late  father's  prisons  had  sometimes  con 
tained  as  high  as  sixty  thousand  convicts  at  one  time,  and 
that  during  his  admirable  reign  he  had  delivered  seventy-two 
thousand  thieves  and  robbers  over  to  death  by  the  execu 
tioner,*  the  boy  was  filled  with  generous  indignation,  and 
commanded  her  to  go  to  her  closet,  and  beseech  God  to  take 
away  the  stone  that  was  in  her  breast,  and  give  her  a  human 
heart. 

Did  Tom  Canty  never  feel  troubled  about  the  poor  little 
rightful  prince  who  had  treated  him  so  kindly,  and  flown  out 
with  such  hot  zeal  to  avenge  him  upon  the  insolent  sentinel 
at  the  palace-gate  ?  Yes;  his  first  royal  days  and  nights  were 
pretty  well  sprinkled  with  painful  thoughts  about  the  lost 
prince,  and  with  sincere  longings  for  his  return,  and  happy 
restoration  to  his  native  rights  and  splendors.  But  as  time 
wore  on,  and  the  prince  did  not  come,  Tom's  mind  became 
more  and  more  occupied  with  his  new  and  enchanting  expe 
riences,  and  by  little  and  little  the  vanished  monarch  faded 
almost  out  of  his  thoughts;  and  finally,  when  he  did  intrude 
upon  them  at  intervals,  he  was  become  an  unwelcome  spec 
tre,  for  he  made  Tom  feel  guilty  and  ashamed. 

Tom's  poor  mother  and  sisters  travelled  the  same  road  out 
of  his  mind.  At  first  he  pined  for  them,  sorrowed  for  them, 
longed  to  see  them,  but  later,  thev  thought  of  their  coming 
some  day  in  their  rags  and  dirt,  and  betraying  him  with  their 
kisses,  and  pulling  him  down  from  his  lofty  place,  and  drag 
ging  him  back  to  penury  and  degradation  and  the  slums, 
made  him  shudder.  At  last  they  ceased  to  trouble  his 
thoughts  almost  wholly.  And  he  was  content,  even  glad;  for, 
*  Hume's  England. 


246  TOM'S   PROGRESS. 

whenever  their  mournful  and  accusing  faces  did  rise  before 
him  now,  they  made  him  feel  more  despicable  than  the  worms 
that  crawl. 

At  midnight  of  the  i9th  of  February,  Tom  Canty  was 
sinking  to  sleep  in  his  rich  bed  in  the  palace,  guarded  by  his 
loyal  vassals,  and  surrounded  by  the  pomps  of  royalty,  a 
happy  boy;  for  to-morrow  was  the  day  appointed  for  his  sol 
emn  crowning  as  King  of  England.  At  that  same  hour, 
Edward,  the  true  king,  hungry  and  thirsty,  soiled  and  drag 
gled,  worn  with  travel,  and  clothed  in  rags  and  shreds, — his 
share  of  the  results  of  the  riot, — was  wedged  in  among  a 
crowd  of  people  who  were  watching  with  deep  interest  certain 
hurrying  gangs  of  workmen  who  streamed  in  and  out  of  West 
minster  Abbey,  busy  as  ants:  they  were  making  the  last  prep 
aration  for  the  royal  coronation. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    RECOGNITION    PROCESSION. 

WHEN  Tom  Canty  awoke  the  next  morning,  the  air  was 
heavy  with  a  thunderous  murmur:  all  the  distances  were 
charged  with  it.  It  was  music  to  him;  for  it  meant  that  the 
English  world  was  out  in  its  strength  to  give  loyal  welcome 
to  the  great  day. 

Presently  Tom  found  himself  once  more  the  chief  figure 
in  a  wonderful  floating  pageant  on  the  Thames;  for  by  an 
cient  custom  the  "  recognition  procession  "  through  London 
must  start  from  the  Tower,  and  he  was  bound  thither. 

When  he  arrived  there,  the  sides  of  the  venerable  fortress 
seemed  suddenly  rent  in  a  thousand  places,  and  from  every 
rent  leaped  a  red  tongue  of  flame  and  a  white  gush  of  smoke; 
a  deafening  explosion  followed,  which  drowned  the  shoutings 
of  the  multitude,  and  made  the  ground  tremble;  the  flame- 
jets,  the  smoke,  and  the  explosions,  were  repeated  over  and 
over  again  with  marvellous  celerity,  so  that  in  a  few  moments 
the  old  Tower  disappeared  in  the  vast  fog  of  its  own  smoke, 
all  but  the  very  top  of  the  tall  pile  called  the  White  Tower: 
this,  with  its  banners,  stood  out  above  the  dense  bank  of 
vapor  as  a  mountain-peak  projects  above  a  cloud-rack. 

Tom  Canty,  splendidly  arrayed,  mounted  a  prancing  war- 
steed,  whose  rich  trappings  almost  reached  to  the  ground;  his 
"  uncle,"  the  Lord  Protector  Somerset,  similarly  mounted, 
took  place  in  his  rear;  the  King's  Guard  formed  in  single 
ranks  on  either  side,  clad  in  burnished  armor;  after  the  Pro 
tector  followed  a  seemingly  interminable  procession  of  re- 


>48 


THE   RECOGNITION    PROCESSION. 


splendent  nobles  attended  by  their  vassals;  after  these  came 
the  lord  mayor  and  the  aldermanic  body,  in  crimson  velvet 
robes,  and  with  their  gold  chains  across  their  breasts;  and 
after  these  the  officers  and  members  of  all  the  guilds  of  Lon 
don,  in  rich  raiment,  and  bearing  the  showy  banners  of  the 
several  corporations.  Also  in  the  procession,  as  a  special 

guard  of  honor  through  the 
city,  was  the  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Artillery  Com 
pany, — an  organization  al 
ready  three  hundred  years 
old  at  that  time,  and  the 
only  military  body  in  Eng 
land  possessing  the  privilege 
(which  it  still  possesses  in 
our  day)  of  holding  itself  in 
dependent  of  the  commands 
of  Parliament.  It  was  a  brill 
iant  spectacle,  and  was  hailed 
with  acclamations  all  along 
the  line,  as  it  took  its  stately 
way  through  the  packed 
multitudes  of  citizens.  The 
chronicler  says,  "The  King, 
as  he  entered  the  city,  was 
'-"'  '.received  by  the  people  with 
prayers,  welcomings,  cries, 
and  tender  words,  and  all 
"WELCOME,  o  KING!"  signs  which  argue  an  earnest 

love    of     subjects    toward 

their  sovereign;  and  the  King,  by  holding  up  his  glad  coun 
tenance  to  such  as  stood  afar  off,  and  most  tender  language 
to  those  that  stood  nigh  his  Grace,  showed  himself  no  less 
thankful  to  receive  the  people's  good  will  than  they  to  offer 


THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION.  249 

it.  To  all  that  wished  him  well,  he  gave  thanks.  To  such  as 
bade  '  God  save  his  Grace,'  he  said  in  return,  '  God  save  you 
all  !  '  and  added  that  'he  thanked  them  with  all  his  heart.' 
Wonderfully  transported  were  the  people  with  the  loving  an 
swers  and  gestures  of  their  King." 

In  Fenchurch  Street  a  "fair  child,  in  costly  apparel," 
stood  on  a  stage  to  welcome  his  Majesty  to  the  city.  The  last 
verse  of  his  greeting  was  in  these  words: 

"  Welcome,  O  King  !  as  much  as  hearts  can  think; 
Welcome  again,  as  much  as  tongue  can  tell, — 
Welcome  to  joyous  tongues,  and  hearts  that  will  not  shrink: 
God  thee  preserve,  we  pray,  and  wish  thee  ever  well." 

The  people  burst  forth  in  a  glad  shout,  repeating  with  one 
voice  what  the  child  had  said.  Tom  Canty  gazed  abroad  over 
the  surging  sea  of  eager  faces,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  ex 
ultation;  and  he  felt  that  the  one  thing  worth  living  for  in 
this  world  was  to  be  a  king,  and  a  nation's  idol.  Presently  he 
caught  sight,  at  a  distance,  of  a  couple  of  his  ragged  Offal 
Court  comrades, — one  of  them  the  lord  high  admiral  in  his 
late  mimic  court,  the  other  the  first  lord  of  the  bedchamber 
in  the  same  pretentious  fiction;  and  his  pride  swelled  higher 
than  ever.  Oh,  if  they  could  only  recognize  him  now  ! 
What  unspeakable  glory  it  would  be,  if  they  could  recognize 
him,  and  realize  that  the  derided  mock  king  of  the  slums 
and  back  alleys  was  become  a  real  king,  with  illustrious 
dukes  and  princes  for  his  humble  menials,  and  the  English 
world  at  his  feet !  But  he  had  to  deny  himself,  and  choke 
down  his  desire,  for  such  a  recognition  might  cost  more  than 
it  would  come  to:  so  he  turned  away  his  head,  and  left  the 
two  soiled  lads  to  go  on  with  their  shoutings  and  glad  adu 
lations,  unsuspicious  of  whom  it  was  they  were  lavishing 
them  upon. 

Every  now  and  then  rose  the  cry,  "  A  largess  !  a  largess  !  " 


250  THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 

and  Tom  responded  by  scattering  a  handful  of  bright  new 
coins  abroad  for  the  multitude  to  scramble  for. 

The  chronicler  says,  "  At  the  upper  end  of  Gracechurch 
Street,  before  the  sign  of  the  Eagle,  the  city  had  erected  a 
gorgeous  arch,  beneath  which  was  a  stage,  which  stretched 
from  one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other.  This  was  a  histori 
cal  pageant,  representing  the  King's  immediate  progenitors. 
There  sat  Elizabeth  of  York  in  the  midst  of  an  immense  white 
rose,  whose  petals  formed  elaborate  furbelows  around  her;  by 
her  side  was  Henry  VII.,  issuing  out  of  a  vast  red  rose,  dis 
posed  in  the  same  manner:  the  hands  of  the  royal  pair  were 
locked  together,  and  the  wedding-ring  ostentatiously  dis 
played.  From  the  red  and  white  roses  proceeded  a  stem, 
which  reached  up  to  a  second  stage,  occupied  by  Henry 
VIII.,  issuing  from  a  red-and-white  rose,  with  the  effigy  of 
the  new  king's  mother,  Jane  Seymour,  represented  by  his  side. 
One  branch  sprang  from  this  pair,  which  mounted  to  a  third 
stage,  where  sat  the  effigy  of  Edward  VI.  himself,  enthroned 
in  royal  majesty;  and  the  whole  pageant  was  framed  with 
wreaths  of  roses,  red  and  white." 

This  quaint  and  gaudy  spectacle  so  wrought  upon  the  re 
joicing  people,  that  their  acclamations  utterly  smothered  the 
small  voice  of  the  child  whose  business  it  was  to  explain  the 
thing  in  eulogistic  rhymes.  But  Tom  Canty  was  not  sorry; 
for  this  loyal  uproar  was  sweeter  music  to  him  than  any  po 
etry,  no  matter  what  its  quality  might  be.  Whithersoever  Tom 
turned  his  happy  young  face,  the  people  recognized  the  ex 
actness  of  his  effigy's  likeness  to  himself,  the  flesh  and  blood 
counterpart;  and  new  whirlwinds  of  applause  burst  forth. 

The  great  pageant  moved  on,  and  still  on,  under  one  tri 
umphal  arch  after  another,  and  past  a  bewildering  succession 
of  spectacular  and  symbolical  tableaux,  each  of  which  typi 
fied  and  exalted  some  virtue,  or  talent,  or  merit,  of  the  lit 
tle  king's.  "  Throughout  the  whole  of  Cheapside,  from  ev- 


THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION.  251 

ery  penthouse  and  window,  hung  banners  and  streamers;  and 
the  richest  carpets,  stuffs,  and  cloth-of-gold  tapestried  the 
streets, — specimens  of  the  great  wealth  of  the  stores  within; 
and  the  splendor  of  this  thoroughfare  was  equalled  in  the  other 
streets,  and  in  some  even. surpassed." 

"  And  all  these  wonders  and  these  marvels  are  to  welcome 
me — me  !  "  murmured  Tom  Canty. 

The  mock  king's  cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement,  his 
eyes  were  flashing,  his  senses  swam  in  a  delirium  of  pleasure. 
At  this  point,  just  as  he  was  raising  his  hand  to  fling  another 
rich  largess,  he  caught  sight  of  a  pale,  astounded  face  which 
was  strained  forward  out  of  the  second  rank  of  the  crowd,  its 
intense  eyes  riveted  upon  him.  A  sickening  consternation 
struck  through  him;  he  recognized  his  mother  !  and  up  flew 
his  hand,  palm  outward,  before  his  eyes, — that  old  involun 
tary  gesture,  born  of  a  forgotten  episode,  and  perpetuated  by 
habit.  In  an  instant  more  she  had  torn  her  way  out  of  the 
press,  and  past  the  guards,  and  was  at  his  side.  She  em 
braced  his  leg,  she  covered  it  with  kisses,  she  cried,  "  O  my 
child,  my  darling  !  "  lifting  toward  him  a  face  that  was  trans 
figured  with  joy  and  love.  The  same  instant  an  officer  of  the 
King's  Guard  snatched  her  away  with  a  curse,  and  sent  her 
reeling  back  whence  she  came  with  a  vigorous  impulse  from 
his  strong  arm.  The  words  "  I  do  not  know  you,  woman  !  " 
were  falling  from  Tom  Canty's  lips  when  this  piteous  thing 
occurred;  but  it  smote  him  to  the  heart  to  see  her  treated  so; 
and  as  she  turned  for  a  last  glimpse  of  him,  whilst  the  crowd 
was  swallowing  her  from  his  sight,  she  seemed  so  wounded, 
so  broken-hearted,  that  a  shame  fell  upon  him  which  con 
sumed  his  pride  to  ashes,  and  withered  his  stolen  royalty. 
His  grandeurs  were  stricken  valueless:  they  seemed  to  fall 
away  from  him  like  rotten  rags. 

The  procession  moved  on,  and  still  on,  through  ever  aug 
menting  splendors  and  ever  augmenting  tempests  of  welcome; 


252  THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 

but  to  Tom  Canty  they  were  as  if  they  had  not  been.  He 
neither  saw  nor  heard.  Royalty  had  lost  its  grace  and  sweet 
ness;  its  pomps  were  become  a  reproach.  Remorse  was  eating 
his  heart  out.  He  said,  "  Would  God  I  were  free  of  my  cap 
tivity  ! " 

He  had  unconsciously  dropped  back  into  the  phraseology 
of  the  first  days  of  his  compulsory  greatness. 

The  shining  pageant  still  went  winding  like  a  radiant  and 
interminable  serpent  down  the  crooked  lanes  of  the  quaint 
old  city,  and  through  the  huzzaing  hosts;  but  still  the  King 
rode  with  bowed  head  and  vacant  eyes,  seeing  only  his  moth 
er's  face  and  that  wounded  look  in  it. 

"  Largess,  largess  !  "    The  cry  fell  upon  an  unheeding  ear. 

"  Long  live  Edward  of  England  !"  It  seemed  as  if  the 
earth  shook  with  the  explosion;  but  there  was  no  response 
from  the  King.  He  heard  it  only  as  one  hears  the  thunder 
of  the  surf  when  it  is  blown  to  the  ear  out  of  a  great  distance, 
for  it  was  smothered  under  another  sound  which  was  still 
nearer,  in  his  own  breast,  in  his  accusing  conscience, — a 
voice  which  kept  repeating  those  shameful  words,  "  I  do  not 
know  you,  woman  !  " 

The  words  smote  upon  the  King's  soul  as  the  strokes  of  a 
funeral  bell  smite  upon  the  soul  of  a  surviving  friend  when 
they  remind  him  of  secret  treacheries  suffered  at  his  hands  by 
him  that  is  gone. 

New  glories  were  unfolded  at  every  turning;  new  wonders, 
new  marvels,  sprung  into  view;  the  pent  clamors  of  waiting 
batteries  were  released;  new  raptures  poured  from  the  throats 
of  the  waiting  multitudes:  but  the  King  gave  no  sign,  and  the 
accusing  voice  that  went  moaning  through  his  comfortless 
breast  was  all  the  sound  he  heard. 

By  and  by  the  gladness  in  the  faces  of  the  populace 
changed  a  little,  and  became  touched  with  a  something  like 
solicitude  or  anxiety:  an  abatement  in  the  volume  of  applause 


THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 


253 


was  observable  too.  The  lord  protector  was  quick  to  notice 
these  things:  he  was  as  quick  to  detect  the  cause.  He 
spurred  to  the  King's  side,  bent  low  in  his  saddle,  uncovered, 
and  said, — 

"  My  liege,  it  is  an  ill  time  for  dreaming.  The  people  ob 
serve  thy  downcast  head,  thy  clouded  mien,  and  they  take  it 
for  an  omen.  Be  advised:  unveil  the  sun  of  royalty,  and  let 
it  shine  upon  these  boding  vapors,  and  disperse  them.  Lift 
up  thy  face,  and  smile  upon  the  people." 


"MY    LIEGE,  IT    IS    AN    ILL   TIME    FOR    DREAMING." 

So  saying,  the  duke  scattered  a  handful  of  coins  to  right 
and  left,  then  retired  to  his  place.  The  mock  king  did  me 
chanically  as  he  had  been  bidden.  His  smile  had  no  heart  in 
it,  but  few  eyes  were  near  enough  or  sharp  enough  to  detect 
that.  The  noddings  of  his  plumed  head  as  he  saluted  his 
subjects  were  full  of  grace  and  graciousness;  the  largess 
which  he  delivered  from  his  hand  was  royally  liberal:  so  the 
people's  anxiety  vanished,  and  the  acclamations  burst  forth 
again  in  as  mighty  a  volume  as  before. 


254  THE   RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 

Still  once  more,  a  little  before  the  progress  was  ended,  the 
duke  was  obliged  to  ride  forward,  and  make  remonstrance. 
He  whispered,- — 

"O  dread  sovereign!  shake  off  these  fatal  humors:  the 
eyes  of  the  world  are  upon  thee."  Then  he  added  with  sharp 
annoyance,  "  Perdition  catch  that  crazy  pauper  !  'twas  she 
that  hath  disturbed  your  Highness." 

The  gorgeous  figure  turned  a  lustreless  eye  upon  the  duke, 
and  said  in  a  dead  voice, — 

"  She  was  my  mother  !  " 

"  My  God  !  "  groaned  the  protector  as  he  reined  his  horse 
backward  to  his  post,  "  the  omen  was  pregnant  with  proph 
ecy.  He  is  gone  mad  again  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

CORONATION    DAY. 

LET  us  go  backward  a  few  hours,  and  place  ourselves  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  this 
memorable  Coronation  Day.  We  are  not  without  company; 
for  although  it  is  still  night,  we  find  the  torch-lighted  galler 
ies  already  filling  up  with  people  who  are  well  content  to  sit 
still  and  wait  seven  or  eight  hours  till  the  time  shall  come  for 
them  to  see  what  they  may  not  hope  to  see  twice  in  their 
lives — the  coronation  of  a  king.  Yes,  London  and  West 
minster  have  been  astir  ever  since  the  warning  guns  boomed 
at  three  o'clock,  and  already  crowds  of  untitled  rich  folk  who 
have  bought  the  privilege  of  trying  to  find  sitting-room  in  the 
galleries  are  flocking  in  at  the  entrances  reserved  for  their 
sort. 

The  hours  drag  along,  tediously  enough.  All  stir  has 
ceased  for  some  time,  for  every  gallery  has  long  ago  been 
packed.  We  may  sit,  now,  and  look  and  think  at  our  leisure. 
We  have  glimpses,  here  and  there  and  yonder,  through  the 
dim  cathedral  twilight,  of  portions  of  many  galleries  and  bal 
conies,  wedged  full  with  people,  the  other  portions  of  these 
galleries  and  balconies  being  cut  off  from  sight  by  intervening 
pillars  and  architectural  projections.  We  have  in  view  the 
whole  of  the  great  north  transept — empty,  and  waiting  for 
England's  privileged  ones.  We  see  also  the  ample  area  or  plat 
form,  carpeted  with  rich  stuffs,  whereon  the  throne  stands. 
The  throne  occupies  the  centre  of  the  platform,  and  is  raised 
above  it  upon  an  elevation  of  four  steps.  Within  the  seat  of 
the  throne  is  enclosed  a  rough  flat  rock — the  stone  of  Scone 
— which  many  generations  of  Scottish  kings  sat  on  to  be 

255 


256  CORONATION    DAY. 

crowned,  and  so  it  in  time  became  holy  enough  to  answer  a 
like  purpose  for  English  monarchs.  Both  the  throne  and  its 
footstool  are  covered  with  cloth  of  gold. 

Stillness  reigns,  the  torches  blink  dully,  the  time  drags 
heavily.  But  at  last  the  lagging  daylight  asserts  itself,  the 
torches  are  extinguished,  and  a  mellow  radiance  suffuses  the 
great  spaces.  All  features  of  the  noble  building  are  distinct, 
now,  but  soft  and  dreamy,  for  the  sun  is  lightly  veiled  with 
clouds. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  first  break  in  the  drowsy  monotony 
occurs;  for  on  the  stroke  of  this  hour  the  first  peeress  enters 
the  transept,  clothed  like  Solomon  for  splendor,  and  is  con 
ducted  to  her  appointed  place  by  an  official  clad  in  satins  and 
velvets,  whilst  a  duplicate  of  him  gathers  up  the  lady's  long 
train,  follows  after,  and,  when  the  lady  is  seated,  arranges  the 
train  across  her  lap  for  her.  He  then  places  her  footstool 
according  to  her  desire,  after  which  he  puts  her  coronet 
where  it  will  be  convenient  to  her  hand  when  the  time  for 
the  simultaneous  coronetting  of  the  nobles  shall  arrive. 

By  this  time  the  peeresses  are  flowing  in  in  a  glittering 
stream,  and  the  satin-clad  officials  are  flitting  and  glinting 
everywhere,  seating  them  and  making  them  comfortable. 
The  scene  is  animated  enough,  now.  There  is  stir  and  life, 
and  shifting  color  everywhere.  After  a  time,  quiet  reigns 
again;  for  the  peeresses  are  all  come,  and  are  all  in  their 
places — a  solid  acre,  or  such  a  matter,  of  human  flowers,  re 
splendent  in  variegated  colors,  and  frosted  like  a  Milky  Way 
with  diamonds.  There  are  all  ages,  here:  brown,  wrinkled, 
whitehaired  dowagers  who  are  able  to  go  back,  and  still  back, 
down  the  stream  of  time,  and  recall  the  crowning  of  Richard 
III.  and  the  troublous  days  of  that  old  forgotten  age;  and 
there  are  handsome  middle-aged  dames;  and  lovely  and  gra 
cious  young  matrons;  and  gentle  and  beautiful  young  girls, 
with  beaming  eyes  and  fresh  complexions,  who  may  possibly 


CORONATION    DAY. 


257 


.  ' 


put  on  their  jewelled  coronets  awkwardly  when  the  great  time 
comes;  for  the  matter  will  be  new  to  them,  and  their  excite 
ment  will  be  a  sore  hindrance.  Still,  this  may  not  happen, 
for  the  hair  of  all  these  ladies  has  been  arranged  with  a  spe 
cial  view  to  the  swift 
and  successful  lodging 
of  the  crown  in  its  place 
when  the  signal  comes. 
We  have  seen  that 
this  massed  array  of 
peeresses  is  sown  thick 
with  diamonds,  and  we 
also  see  that  it  is  a  mar 
vellous  ^apectacle  —  but 
now  we  are  about  to  be 
astonished  in  earnest. 
About  nine,  the  clouds 
suddenly  break  away 
and  a  shaft  of  sunshine 
cleaves  the  mellow  at 
mosphere,  and  drifts 
slowly  along  the  ranks 
of  ladies;  and  every 
rank  it  touches  flames 
into  a  dazzling  splendor 
of  many-colored  fires, 
and  we  tingle  to  our  fin 
ger-tips  with  the  elec 
tric  thrill  that  is  shot  "  TOM  CANTY  APPEARED." 
through  us  by  the  surprise  and  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle  ! 
Presently  a  special  envoy  from  some  distant  corner  of  the 
Orient,  marching  with  the  general  body  of  foreign  ambassa 
dors,  crosses  this  bar  of  sunshine,  and  we  catch  our  breath,  the 
glory  that  streams  and  flashes  and  palpitates  about  him  is  so 


258  CORONATION   DAY. 

overpowering;  for  he  is  crusted  from  head  to  heel  with  gems, 
and  his  slightest  movement  showers  a  dancing  radiance  all 
around  him. 

Let  us  change  the  tense  for  convenience.  The  time  drifted 
along, — one  hour — two  hours — two  hours  and  a  half;  then  the 
deep  booming  of  artillery  told  that  the  king  and  his  grand 
procession  had  arrived  at  last;  so  the  waiting  multitude  re 
joiced.  All  knew  that  a  further  delay  must  follow,  for  the  king 
must  be  prepared  and  robed  for  the  solemn  ceremony;  but 
this  delay  would  be  pleasantly  occupied  by  the  assembling  of 
the  peers  of  the  realm  in  their  stately  robes.  These  were  con 
ducted  ceremoniously  to  their  seats,  and  their  coronets  placed 
conveniently  at  hand;  and  meanwhile  the  multitude  in  the 
galleries  were  alive  with  interest,  for  most  of  them  were  be 
holding  for  the  first  time,  dukes,  earls  and  barons,  whose 
names  had  been  historical  for  five  hundred  years.  When  all 
were  finally  seated,  the  spectacle  from  the  galleries  and  all 
coigns  of  vantage  was  complete;  a  gorgeous  one  to  look  upon 
and  to  remember. 

Now  the  robed  and  mitred  great  heads  of  the  church,  and 
their  attendants,  filed  in  upon  the  platform  and  took  their 
appointed  places;  these  were  followed  by  the  Lord  Protector 
and  other  great  officials,  and  these  again  by  a  steel-clad  de 
tachment  of  the  Guard. 

There  was  a  waiting  pause;  then,  at  a  signal,  a  triumphant 
peal  of  music  burst  forth,  and  Tom  Canty,  clothed  in  a  long 
robe  of  cloth  of  gold,  appeared  at  a  door,  and  stepped  upon 
the  platform.  The  entire  multitude  rose,  and  the  ceremony 
of  the  Recognition  ensued. 

Then  a  noble  anthem  swept  the  Abbey  with  its  rich  waves 
of  sound;  and  thus  heralded  and  welcomed,  Tom  Canty  was 
conducted  to  the  throne.  The  ancient  ceremonies  went  on, 
with  impressive  solemnity,  whilst  the  audience  gazed;  and  as 
they  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  completion,  Tom  Canty  grew 


CORONATION   DAY. 


259 


pale,  and  still  paler,  and  a  deep  and  steadily  deepening  woe 
and  despondency  settled  down  upon  his  spirits  and  upon  his 
remorseful  heart. 

At  last  the  final  act  was  at  hand.  The  Archbishop  of  Can 
terbury  lifted  up  the  crown  of  England  from  its  cushion  and 
held  it  out  over  the  trembling  mock-king's  head.  In  the 
same  instant  a  rainbow-radiance  flashed  along  the  spacious 
transept;  for  with  one  impulse  every  individual  in  the  great 


"AND    FELL    ON    HIS    KNEES    BEFORE    HIM. 

concourse  of  nobles  lifted  a  coronet  and  poised  it  over  his  or 
her  head, — and  paused  in  that  attitude. 

A  deep  hush  pervaded  the  Abbey.  At  this  impressive  mo 
ment,  a  startling  apparition  intruded  upon  the  scene — an 
apparition  observed  by  none  in  the  absorbed  multitude,  until 
it  suddenly  appeared,  moving  up  the  great  central  aisle.  It 
was  a  boy,  bare-headed,  ill  shod,  and  clothed  in  coarse  pie- 


260  CORONATION    DAY. 

beian  garments  that  were  falling  to  rags.  He  raised  his  hand 
with  a  solemnity  which  ill  comported  with  his  soiled  and  sorry 
aspect,  and  delivered  this  note  of  warning — 

"  I  forbid  you  to  set  the  crown  of  England  upon  that  for 
feited  head.  /  am  the  king  !  " 

In  an  instant  several  indignant  hands  were  laid  upon  the 
boy;  but  in  the  same  instant  Tom  Canty,  in  his  regal  vest 
ments,  made  a  swift  step  forward  and  cried  out  in  a  ringing 
voice — 

"  Loose  him  and  forbear  !     He  is  the  king  !  " 

A  sort  of  panic  of  astonishment  swept  the  assemblage,  and 
they  partly  rose  in  their  places  and  stared  in  a  bewildered 
way  at  one  another  and  at  the  chief  figures  in  this  scene,  like 
persons  who  wondered  whether  they  were  awake  and  in  their 
senses,  or  asleep  and  dreaming.  The  Lord  Protector  was  as 
amazed  as  the  rest,  but  quickly  recovered  himself  arid  ex 
claimed  in  a  voice  of  authority — 

"Mind  not  his  Majesty,  his  malady  is  upon  him  again — 
seize  the  vagabond  !  " 

He  would  have  been  obeyed,  but  the  mock-king  stamped 
his  foot  and  cried  out — 

"  On  your  peril  !     Touch  him  not,  he  is  the  king  !  " 

The  hands  were  withheld  ;  a  paralysis  fell  upon  the  house  ; 
no  one  moved,  no  one  spoke  ;  indeed  no  one  knew  how  to  act 
or  what  to  say,  in  so  strange  and  surprising  an  emergency. 
While  all  minds  were  struggling  to  right  themselves,  the  boy 
still  moved  steadily  forward,  with  high  port  and  confident 
mien  ;  he  had  never  halted  from  the  beginning  ;  and  while 
the  tangled  minds  still  floundered  helplessly,  he  stepped  upon 
the  platform,  and  the  mock-king  ran  with  a  glad  face  to  meet 
him  ;  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  him  and  said  — 

"  O,  my  lord  the  king,  let  poor  Tom  Canty  be  first  to  swear 
fealty  to  thee,  and  say  <  Put  on  thy  crown  and  enter  into  thine 
own  again  ! '  " 


CORONATION    DAY.  26l 

The  Lord  Protector's  eye  fell  sternly  upon  the  new-corner's 
face  ;  but  straightway  the  sternness  vanished  away,  and  gave 
place  to  an  expression  of  wondering  surprise.  This  thing 
happened  also  to  the  other  great  officers.  They  glanced  at 
each  other,  and  retreated  a  step  by  a  common  and  unconscious 
impulse.  The  thought  in  each  mind  was  the  same  :  "What  a 
strange  resemblance  !  " 

The  Lord  Protector  reflected  a  moment  or  two,  in  perplex 
ity,  then  he  said,  with  grave  respectfulness — 

"By  your  favor,  sir,  I  desire  to  ask  certain  questions 
which" — 

"I  will  answer  them,  my  lord." 

The  duke  asked  him  many  questions  about  the  court,  the 
late  king,  the  prince,  the  princesses,— the  boy  answered  them 
correctly  and  without  hesitating.  He  described  the  rooms  of 
state  in  the  palace,  the  late  king's  apartments,  and  those  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales. 

It  was  strange  ;  it  was  wonderful  ;  yes,  it  was  unaccount 
able — so  all  said  that  heard  it.  The  tide  was  beginning  to 
turn,  and  Tom  Canty's  hopes  to  run  high,  when  the  Lord  Pro 
tector  shook  his  head  and  said— 

"  It  is  true  it  is  most  wonderful — but  it  is  no  more  than 
our  lord  the  king  likewise  can  do."  This  remark,  and  this 
reference  to  himself  as  still  the  king,  saddened  Tom  Canty, 
and  he  felt  his  hopes  crumbling  from  under  him.  "These 
are  not  proofs"  added  the  Protector. 

The  tide  was  turning  very  fast,  now,  very  fast  indeed — but 
in  the  wrong  direction  ;  it  was  leaving  poor  Tom  Canty 
stranded  on  the  throne,  and  sweeping  the  other  out  to  sea. 
The  Lord  Protector  communed  with  himself  —  shook  his 
head — the  thought  forced  itself  upon  him,  "  It  is  perilous  to 
the  State  and  to  us  all,  to  entertain  so  fateful  a  riddle  as  this  ; 
it  could  divide  the  nation  and  undermine  the  throne."  He 
turned  and  said — 


262  CORONATION    DAY. 

"  Sir  Thomas,  arrest  this — No,  hold  !  "  His  face  lighted, 
and  he  confronted  the  ragged  candidate  with  this  question — 

"  Where  lieth  the  Great  Seal  ?  Answer  me  this  truly,  and 
the  riddle  is  unriddled  ;  for  only  he  that  was  Prince  of  Wales 
can  so  answer  !  On  so  trivial  a  thing  hang  a  throne  and  a 
dynasty  !  " 

It  was  a  lucky  taought,  a  happy  thought.  That  it  was  so 
considered  by  the  great  officials  was  manifested  by  the  silent 
applause  that  shot  from  eye  to  eye  around  their  circle  in  the 
form  of  bright  approving  glances.  Yes,  none  but  the  true 
prince  could  dissolve  the  stubborn  mystery  of  the  vanished 
Great  Seal — this  forlorn  little  impostor  had  been  taught  his 
lesson  well,  but  here  his  teachings  must  fail,  for  his  teacher 
himself  could  not  answer  that  question— ah,  very  good,  very 
good  indeed  ;  now  we  shall  be  rid  of  this  troublesome  and 
perilous  business  in  short  order  !  And  so  they  nodded  in 
visibly  and  smiled  inwardly  with  satisfaction,  and  looked  to 
see  this  foolish  lad  stricken  with  a  palsy  of  guilty  confusion. 
How  surprised  they  were,  then,  to  see  nothing  of  the  sort 
happen — how  they  marvelled  to  hear  him  answer  up  promptly, 
in  a  confident  and  untroubled  voice,  and  say — 

"There  is  nought  in  this  riddle  that  is  difficult."  Then, 
without  so  much  as  a  by-your-leave  to  anybody,  he  turned 
and  gave  this  command,  with  the  easy  manner  of  one  accus 
tomed  to  doing  such  things:  "My  lord  St.  John,  go  you  to 
my  private  cabinet  in  the  palace — for  none  knoweth  the  place 
better  than  you — and,  close  down  to  the  floor,  in  the  left 
corner  remotest  from  the  door  that  opens  from  the  ante 
chamber,  you  shall  find  in  the  wall  a  brazen  nail-head  ;  press 
upon  it  and  a  little  jewel-closet  will  fly  open  which  not  even 
you  do  know  of — no,  nor  any  soul  else,  in  all  the  world  but 
me  and  the  trusty  artisan  that  did  contrive  it  for  me.  The 
first  thing  that  falleth  under  your  eye  will  be  the  Great  Seal 
— fetch  it  hither." 


CORONATION    DAY.  263 

All  the  company  wondered  at  this  speech,  and  wondered 
still  more  to  see  the  little  mendicant  pick  out  this  peer  with 
out  hesitancy  or  apparent  fear  of  mistake,  and  call  him  by 
name  with  such  a  placidly  convincing  air  of  having  known 
him  all  his  life.  The  peer  was  almost  surprised  into  obeying. 
He  even  made  a  movement  as  if  to  go,  but  quickly  recovered 
his  tranquil  attitude  and  confessed  his  blunder  with  a  blush. 
Tom  Canty  turned  upon  him  and  said,  sharply — 

"Why  dost  thou  hesitate  ?  Hast  not  heard  the  king's  com 
mand  ?  Go  ! " 

The  lord  St.  John  made  a  deep  obeisance— and  it  was  ob 
served  that  it  was  a  significantly  cautious  and  non-committal 
one,  it  not  being  delivered  at  either  of  the  kings,  but  at  the 
neutral  ground  about  half  way  between  the  two — and  took 
his  leave. 

Now  began  a  movement  of  the  gorgeous  particles  of  that 
official  group  which  was  slow,  scarcely  perceptible,  and  yet 
steady  and  persistent — a  movement  such  as  is  observed  in  a 
kaleidoscope  that  is  turned  slowly,  whereby  the  components 
of  one  splendid  cluster  fall  away  and  join  themselves  to 
another — a  movement  which  little  by  little,  in  the  present 
case,  dissolved  the  glittering  crowd  that  stood  about  Tom 
Canty  and  clustered  it  together  again  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  new-comer.  Tom  Canty  stood  almost  alone.  Now  ensued 
a  brief  season  of  deep  suspense  and  waiting — during  which 
even  the  few  faint-hearts  still  remaining  near  Tom  Canty 
gradually  scraped  together  courage  enough  to  glide,  one  by 
one,  over  to  the  majority.  So  at  last  Tom  Canty,  in  his  royal 
robes  and  jewels,  stood  wholly  alone  and  isolated  from  the 
world,  a  conspicuous  figure,  occupying  an  eloquent  vacancy. 

Now  the  lord  St.  John  was  seen  returning.  As  he  advanced 
up  the  mid-aisle  the  interest  was  so  intense  that  the  low 
murmur  of  conversation  in  the  great  assemblage  died  out 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  profound  hush,  a  breathless  stillness, 


264  CORONATION    DAY. 

through  which  his  footfalls  pulsed  with  a  dull  and  distant 
sound.  Every  eye  was  fastened  upon  him  as  he  moved  along. 
He  reached  the  platform,  paused  a  moment,  then  moved  tow 
ard  Tom  Canty  with  a  deep  obeisance,  and  said— 

"  Sire,  the  Seal  is  not  there  !  " 

A  mob  does  not  melt  away  from  the  presence  of  a  plague- 
patient  with  more  haste  than  the  band  of  pallid  and  terrified 
courtiers  melted  away  from  the  presence  of  the  shabby  little 
claimant  of  the  Crown.  In  a  moment  he  stood  all  alone, 
without  friend  or  supporter,  a  target  upon  which  was  concen 
trated  a  bitter  fire  of  scornful  and  angry  looks.  The  Lord 
Protector  called  out  fiercely— 

"  Cast  the  beggar  into  the  street,  and  scourge  him  through 
the  town — the  paltry  knave  is  worth  no  more  consideration  !  " 

Officers  of  the  guard  sprang  forward  to  obey,  but  Tom 
Canty  waved  them  off  and  said — 

"  Back  !     Whoso  touches  him  perils  his  life  !" 

The  Lord  Protector  was  perplexed,  in  the  last  degree.  He 
said  to  the  lord  St.  John— 

"  Searched  you  well? — but  it  boots  not  to  ask  that.  It 
doth  seem  passing  strange.  Little  things,  trifles,  slip  out  of 
one's  ken,  and  one  does  not  think  it  matter  for  surprise  ;  but 
how  a  so  bulky  thing^as  the  Seal  of  England  can  vanish  away 
and  no  man  be  able  to  get  track  of  it  again — a  massy  golden 
disk"— 

Tom  Canty,  with  beaming  eyes,  sprang  forward  and 
shouted— 

"  Hold,  that  is  enough  !  Was  it  round  ? — and  thick  ? — and 
had  it  letters  and  devices  graved  upon  it  ? — Yes  ?  O,  now  I 
know  what  this  Great  Seal  is  that  there's  been  such  worry 
and  pother  about  !  An'  ye  had  described  it  to  me,  ye  could 
have  had  it  three  weeks  ago.  Right  well  I  know  where  it 
lies;  but  it  was  not  I  that  put  it  there — first." 

"Who,  then,  my  liege?."  asked  the  Lord  Protector. 


CORONATION    DAY. 


265 


"  He  that  stands  there — the  rightful  king  of  England. 
And  he  shall  tell  you  himself  where  it  lies — then  you  will  be 
lieve  he  knew  it  of  his  own  knowledge.  Bethink  thee,  my 
king — spur  thy  memory — it  was  the  last,  the  very  last  thing 
thou  didst  that  day  before  thou  didst  rush  forth  from  the 
palace,  clothed  in  my  rags,  to  punish  the  soldier  that  insulted 
me." 

A  silence  ensued,  undisturbed  by  a  movement  or  a  whis 
per,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  new-comer,  who  stood. 


"BETHINK    THEE,  MY    KING." 

with  bent  head  and  corrugated  brow,  groping  in  his  memory 
among  a  thronging  multitude  of  valueless  recollections  for 
one  single  little  elusive  fact,  which,  found,  would  seat  him 
upon  a  throne — unfound,  would  leave  him  as  he  was.  for  good 
and  all — a  pauper  and  an  outcast.  Moment  after  moment 
passed — the  moments  built  themselves  into  minutes — still  the 
boy  struggled  silently  on,  and  gave  no  sign.  But  at  last  he 
heaved  a  sigh,  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  said,  with  a  trem 
bling  lip  and  in  a  despondent  voice — 


266  CORONATION    DAY. 

"  I  call  the  scene  back — all  of  it — but  the  Seal  hath  no 
place  in  it."  He  paused,  then  looked  up,  and  said  with  gentle 
dignity,  "  My  lords  and  gentlemen,  if  ye  will  rob  your  right 
ful  sovereign  of  his  own  for  lack  of  this  evidence  which  he  is 
not  able  to  furnish,!  may  not  stay  ye, being  powerless.  But  "- 

"  O,  folly,  O,  madness,  my  king  !  "  cried  Tom  Canty,  in  a 
panic,  "wait  ! — think  !  Do  not  give  up  !— the  cause  is  not 
lost  !  Nor  shall  be,  neither  !  List  to  what  I  say — follow 
every  word — I  am  going  to  bring  that  morning  back  again, 
every  hap  just  as  it  happened.  We  talked — I  told  you  of  my 
sisters,  Nan  and  Bet — ah,  yes,  you  remember  that;  and  about 
mine  old  grandam — and  the  rough  games  of  the  lads  of  Offal 
Court — yes,  you  remember  these  things  also;  very  well,  fol 
low  me  still,  you  shall  recall  everything.  You  gave  me  food 
and  drink,  and  did  with  princely  courtesy  send  away  the  ser 
vants,  so  that  my  low  breeding  might  not  shame  me  before 
them — ah,  yes,  this  also  you  remember." 

As  Tom  checked  off  his  details,  and  the  other  boy  nodded 
his  head  in  recognition  of  them,  the  great  audience  and  the 
officials  stared  in  puzzled  wonderment;  the  tale  sounded  like 
true  history,  yet  how  could  this  impossible  conjunction  be 
tween  a  prince  and  a  beggar  boy  have  come  about  ?  Never 
was  a  company  of  people  so  perplexed,  so  interested,  and  so 
stupefied,  before. 

"  For  a  jest,  my  prince,  we  did  exchange  garments.  Then 
we  stood  before  a  mirror;  and  so  alike  were  we  that  both  said 
it  seemed  as  if  there  had  been  no  change  made— yes,  you  re 
member  that.  Then  you  noticed  that  the  soldier  had  hurt 
my  hand — look  !  here  it  is,  I  cannot  yet  even  write  with  it, 
the  fingers  are  so  stiff.  At  this  your  Highness  sprang  up, 
vowing  vengeance  upon  that  soldier,  and  ran  toward  the  door 
— you  passed  a  table — that  thing  you  call  the  Seal  lay  on  that 
table — you  snatched  it  up  and  looked  eagerly  about,  as  if  for 
a  place  to  hide  it — your  eye  caught  sight  of " 


CORONATION    DAY.  267 

"There,  'tis  sufficient  ! — and  the  dear  God  be  thanked  !  " 
exclaimed  the  ragged  claimant,  in  a  mighty  excitement. 
"  Go,  my  good  St.  John, — in  an  arm-piece  of  the  Milanese 
armor  that  hangs  on  the  wall,  thou'lt  find  the  Seal  !  " 

"  Right,  my  king  !  right  !  "  cried  Tom  Canty;  "  now  the 
sceptre  of  England  is  thine  own;  and  it  were  better  for  him 
that  would  dispute  it  that  he  had  been  born  dumb  !  Go,  my 
lord  St.  John,  give  thy  feet  wings  !  " 

The  whole  assemblage  was  on  its  feet,  now,  and  well  nigh 
out  of  its  mind  with  uneasiness,  apprehension,  and  consum 
ing  excitement.  On  the  floor  and  on  the  platform  a  deafen 
ing  buzz  of  frantic  conversation  burst  forth,  and  for  some 
time  nobody  knew  any  thing  or  heard  any  thing  or  was  inter 
ested  in  any  thing  but  what  his  neighbor  was  shouting  into 
his  ear,  or  he  was  shouting  into  his  neighbor's  ear.  Time — 
nobody  knew  how  much  of  it — swept  by  unheeded  and  un 
noted. — At  last  a  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  house,  and  in  the 
same  moment  St.  John  appeared  upon  the  platform  and  held 
the  Great  Seal  aloft  in  his  hand.  Then  such  a  shout  went 
up  ! 

"  Long  live  the  true  King  !  " 

For  five  minutes  the  air  quaked  with  shouts  and  the  crash 
of  musical  instruments,  and  was  white  with  a  storm  of  wav 
ing  handkerchiefs;  and  through  it  all  a  ragged  lad,  the  most 
conspicuous  figure  in  England,  stood,  flushed  and  happy  and 
proud,  in  the  centre  of  the  spacious  platform,  with  the  great 
vassals  of  the  kingdom  kneeling  around  him. 

Then  all  rose,  and  Tom  Canty  cried  out — 

"  Now,  O,  my  king,  take  these  regal  garments  back,  and 
give  poor  Tom,  thy  servant,  his  shreds  and  remnants  again." 

The  Lord  Protector  spoke  up — 

"  Let  the  small  varlet  be  stripped  and  flung  into  the 
Tower." 

But  the  new  king,  the  true  king,  said — 


268  CORONATION    DAY. 

"  I  will  not  have  it  so.  But  for  him  I  had  not  got  my 
crown  again — none  shall  lay  a  hand  upon  him  to  harm  him. 
And  as  for  thee,  my  good  uncle,  my  Lord  Protector,  this 
conduct  of  thine  is  not  grateful  toward  this  poor  lad,  for  I 
hear  he  hath  made  thee  a  duke  " — the  Protector  blushed — 
"yet  he  was  not  a  king;  wherefore,  what  is  thy  fine  title 
worth,  now  ?  To-morrow  you  shall  sue  to  me,  through  him, 
for  its  confirmation,  else  no  duke,  but  a  simple  earl,  shalt 
thou  remain." 

Under  this  rebuke,  his  grace  the  duke  of  Somerset  retired 


"TO    CRACK    NUTS    WITH." 

a  little  from  the  front  for  the  moment.  The  king  turned  to 
Tom,  and  said,  kindly — 

"  My  poor  boy,  how  was  it  that  you  could  remember 
where  I  hid  the  Seal  when  I  could  not  remember  it  myself  ? " 

"Ah,  my  king,  that  was  easy,  since  I  used  it  divers  days." 

"  Used  it,— yet  could  not  explain  where  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was  that  they  wanted.  They  did  not 
describe  it,  your  majesty." 

"  Then  how  used  you  it  ?  " 

The  red  blood  began  to  steal  up  into  Tom's  cheeks,  and  he 
dropped  his  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"  Speak  up,  good  lad,  and  fear  nothing,"  said  the  king. 
"  How  used  you  the  Great  Seal  of  England  ?  " 


CORONATION    DAY.  269 

Tom  stammered  a  moment,  in  a  pathetic  confusion,  then 
got  it  out — 

"  To  crack  nuts  with  !" 

Poor  child,  the  avalanche  of  laughter  that  greeted  this, 
nearly  swept  him  off  his  feet.  But  if  a  doubt  remained  in 
any  mind  that  Tom  Canty  was  not  the  king  of  England  and 
familiar  with  the  august  appurtenances  of  royalty,  this  reply 
disposed  of  it  utterly. 

Meantime  the  sumptuous  robe  of  state  had  been  removed 
from  Tom's  shoulders  to  the  king's,  whose  rags  were  effectu 
ally  hidden  from  sight  under  it.  Then  the  coronation  cere 
monies  were  resumed;  the  true  king  was  anointed  and  the 
crown  set  upon  his  head,  whilst  cannon  thundered  the  news 
to  the  city,  and  all  London  seemed  to  rock  with  applause. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

EDWARD    AS    KING. 

MILES  HENDON  was  picturesque  enough  before  he  got  into 
the  riot  on  London  Bridge — he  was  more  so  when  he  got  out 
of  it.  He  had  but  little  money  when  he  got  in,  none  at  all 
when  he  got  out.  The  pickpockets  had  stripped  him  of  his 
last  farthing. 

But  no  matter,  so  he  found  his  boy.  Being  a  soldier,  he 
did  not  go  at  his  task  in  a  random  way,  but  set  to  work,  first 
of  all,  to  arrange  his  campaign. 

What  would  the  boy  naturally  do  ?  Where  would  he  nat 
urally  go  ?  Well— argued  Miles — he  would  naturally  go  to 
his  former  haunts,  for  that  is  the  instinct  of  unsound  minds, 
when  homeless  and  forsaken,  as  well  as  of  sound  ones. 
Whereabouts  were  his  former  haunts  ?  His  rags,  taken  to 
gether  with  the  low  villain  who  seemed  to  know  him  and  who 
even  claimed  to  be  his  father,  indicated  that  his  home  was  in 
one  or  another  of  the  poorest  and  meanest  districts  of  Lon 
don.  Would  the  search  for  him  be  difficult,  or  long?  No,  it 
was  likely  to  be  easy  and  brief.  He  would  not  hunt  for  the 
boy,  he  would  hunt  for  a  crowd;  in  the  centre  of  a  big  crowd 
or  a  little  one,  sooner  or  later,  he  should  find  his  poor  little 
friend,  sure;  and  the  mangy  mob  would  be  entertaining  itself 
with  pestering  and  aggravating  the  boy,  who  would  be  pro 
claiming  himself  king,  as  usual.  Then  Miles  Hendon  would 
cripple  some  of  those  people,  and  carry  off  his  little  ward,  and 
comfort  and  cheer  him  with  loving  words,  and  the  two  would 
never  be  separated  any  more. 

270 


EDWARD   AS    KING.  2/1 

So  Miles  started  on  his  quest.  Hour  after  hour  he  tramped 
through  back  alleys  and  squalid  streets,  seeking  groups  and 
crowds,  and  finding  no  end  of  them,  but  never  any  sign  of 
the  boy.  This  greatly  surprised  him,  but  did  not  discourage 
him.  To  his  notion,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  his 
plan  of  campaign;  the  only  miscalculation  about  it  was  that 
the  campaign  was  becoming  a  lengthy  one,  whereas  he  had 
expected  it  to  be  short. 

When  daylight  arrived,  at  last,  he  had  made  many  a  mile, 
and  canvassed  many  a  crowd,  but  the  only  result  was  that  he 
was  tolerably  tired)  rather  hungry,  and  very  sleepy.  He 
wanted  some  breakfast,  but  there  was  no  way  to  get  it.  To 
beg  for  it  did  not  occur  to  him;  as  to  pawning  his  sword,  he 
would  as  soon  have  thought  of  parting  with  his  honor;  he 
could  spare  some  of  his  clothes — yes,  but  one  could  as  easily 
find  a  customer  for  a  disease  as  for  such  clothes. 

At  noon  he  was  still  tramping — among  the  rabble  which 
followed  after  the  royal  procession,  now;  for  he  argued  that 
this  regal  display  would  attract  his  little  lunatic  powerfully. 
He  followed  the  pageant  through  all  its  devious  windings 
about  London,  and  all  the  way  to  Westminster  and  the 
Abbey.  He  drifted  here  and  there  amongst  the  multitudes 
that  were  massed  in  the  vicinity  for  a  weary  long  time,  baf 
fled  and  perplexed,  and  finally  wandered  off,  thinking,  and 
trying  to  contrive  some  way  to  better  his  plan  of  campaign. 
By  and  by,  when  he  came  to  himself  out  of  his  musings,  he 
discovered  that  the  town  was  far  behind  him  and  that  the  day 
was  growing  old.  He  was  near  the  river,  and  in  the  country; 
it  was  a  region  of  fine  rural  seats — not  the  sort  of  district  to 
welcome  clothes  like  his. 

It  was  not  at  all  cold;  so  he  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  in  the  lee  of  a  hedge  to  rest  and  think.  Drowsiness 
presently  began  to  settle  upon  his  senses;  the  faint  and  far- 
off  boom  of  cannon  was  wafted  to  his  ear,  and  he  said  to  him- 


2/2  EDWARD   AS    KING. 

self  "The  new  king  is  crowned,"  and  straightway  fell  asleep. 
He  had  not  slept  or  rested,  before,  for  more  than  thirty 
hours.  He  did  not  wake  again  until  near  the  middle  of  the 
next  morning. 

He  got  up,  lame,  stiff,  and  half  famished,  washed  himself 
in  the  river,  stayed  his  stomach  with  a  pint  or  two  of  water, 
and  trudged  off  toward  Westminster  grumbling  at  himself  for 
having  wasted  so  much  time.  Hunger  helped  him  to  a  new 
plan,  now;  he  would  try  to  get  speech  with  old  Sir  Hum 
phrey  Marlow  and  borrow  a  few  marks,  and — but  that  was 
enough  of  a  plan  for  the  present;  it  would  be  time  enough  to 
enlarge  it  when  this  first  stage  should  be  accomplished. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  he  approached  the  palace;  and 
although  a  host  of  showy  people  were  about  him,  moving  in 
the  same  direction,  he  was  not  inconspicuous — his  costume 
took  care  of  that.  He  watched  these  people's  faces  narrowly, 
hoping  to  find  a  charitable  one  whose  possessor  might  be 
willing  to  carry  his  name  to  the  old  lieutenant — as  to  trying 
to  get  into  the  palace  himself,  that  was  simply  out  of  the 
question.  • 

Presently  our  whipping-boy  passed  him,  then  wheeled  about 
and  scanned  his  figure  well,  saying  to  himself,  "  An'  that  is 
not  the  very  vagabond  his  majesty  is  in  such  a  worry  about, 
then  am  I  an  ass — though  belike  I  was  that  before.  He 
answereth  the  description  to  a  rag — that  God  should  make 
two  such,  would  be  to  cheapen  miracles,  by  wasteful  repeti 
tion.  I  would  I  could  contrive  an  excuse  to  speak  with  him." 

Miles  Hendon  saved  him  the  trouble;  for  he  turned  about, 
then,  as  a  man  generally  will  when  somebody  mesmerizes  him 
by  gazing  hard  at  him  from  behind;  and  observing  a  strong 
interest  in  the  boy's  eyes,  he  stepped  toward  him  and  said — 

"You  have  just  come  out  from  the  palace;  do  you  belong 
there?  " 

"  Yes,  your  worship." 


EDWARD    AS    KING.  2/3 

"  Know  you  Sir  Humphrey  Marlow  ?  " 

The  boy  started,  and  said  to  himself,  "  Lord  !  mine  old 
departed  father  !  "  Then  he  answered,  aloud,  "  Right  well, 
your  worship." 

"  Good — is  he  within  ? '" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy;  and  added,  to  himself,  "within  his 
grave." 

"  Might  I  crave  your  favor  to  carry  my  name  to  him,  and 
say  I  beg  to  say  a  word  in  his  ear  ?  " 

'•  I  will  despatch  the  business  right  willingly,  fair  sir." 

"Then  say  Miles  Hendon,  son  of  Sir  Richard,  is  here 
without — I  shall  be  greatly  bounden  to  you,  my  good  lad." 

The  boy  looked  disappointed — "  the  king  did  not  name  him 
so,"  he  said  to  himself — "  but  itmattereth  not,  this  is  his  twin 
brother,  and  can  give  his  majesty  news  of  'tother  Sir-Odds- 
and-Ends,  I  warrant."  So  he  said  to  Miles,  "  Step  in  there 
a  moment,  good  sir,  and  wait  till  I  bring  you  word." 

Hendon  retired  to  the  place  indicated — it  was  a  recess  sunk 
in  the  palace  wall,  with  a  stone  bench  in  it— a  shelter  for  sen 
tinels  in  bad  weather.  He  had  hardly  seated  himself  when 
some  halberdiers,  in  charge  of  an  officer,  passed  by.  The  of 
ficer  saw  him,  halted  his  men,  and  commanded  Hendon  to 
come  forth.  He  obeyed,  and  was  promptly  arrested  as  a  sus 
picious  character  prowling  within  the  precincts  of  the  palace. 
Things  began  to  look  ugly.  Poor  Miles  was  going  to  explain, 
but  the  officer  roughly  silenced  him,  and  ordered  his  men  to 
disarm  him  and  search  him. 

"  God  of  his  mercy  grant  that  they  find  somewhat,"  said 
poor  Miles;  "I  have  searched  enow,  and  failed,  yet  is  my 
need  greater  than  theirs." 

Nothing  was  found  but  a  document.  The  officer  tore  it 
open,  and  Hendon  smiled  when  he  recognized  the  "pot 
hooks  "  made  by  his  lost  little  friend  that  black  day  at  Hen 
don  Hall.  The  officer's  face  grew  dark  as  he  read  the  Eng- 


2/4  EDWARD   AS    KING. 

^ 

lish  paragraph,  and  Miles  blenched  to  the  opposite  color  as 
he  listened. 

"  Another  new  claimant  of  the  crown  !  "  cried  the  officer. 
"Verily  they  breed  like  rabbits,  to-day.  Seize  the  rascal, 
men,  and  see  ye  keep  him  fast  wfiilst  I  convey  this  precious 
paper  within -and  send  it  to  the  king." 

He  hurried  away,  leaving  the  prisoner  in  the  grip  of  the  hal 
berdiers. 

"Now  is  my  evil  luck  ended  at  last,''  muttered  Hendon, 
"  for  I  shall  dangle  at  a  rope's  end  for  a  certainty,  by  reason 
of  that  bit  of  writing.  And  what  will  become  of  my  poor  lad  ! 
— ah,  only  the  good  God  knoweth." 

By  and  by  he  saw  the  officer  coming  again,  in  a  great  hur 
ry;  so  he  plucked  his  courage  together,  purposing  to  meet  his 
trouble  as  became  a  man.  The  officer  ordered  the  men  to 
loose  the  prisoner  and  return  his  sword  to  him;  then  bowed 
respectfully,  and  said — 

"Please  you  sir,  to  follow  me." 

Hendon  followed,  saying  to  himself,  "  An'  I  were  not  trav 
elling  to  death  and  judgment,  and  so  must  needs  economize 
in  sin,  I  would  throttle  this  knave  for  his  mock  courtesy." 

The  two  traversed  a  populous  court,  and  arrived  at  the 
grand  entrance  of  the  palace,  where  the  officer,  with  another 
bow,  delivered  Hendon  into  the  hands  of  a  gorgeous  official, 
who  received  him  with  profound  respect  and  led  him  forward 
through  a  great  hall,  lined  on  both  sides  with  rows  of  splen 
did  flunkies  (who  made  reverential  obeisance  as  the  two 
passed  along,  but  fell  into  death-throes  of  silent  laughter  at 
our  stately  scare-crow  the  moment  his  back  was  turned,)  and 
up  a  broad  staircase,  among  flocks  of  fine  folk,  and  finally 
conducted  him  into  a  vast  room,  clove  a  passage  for  him 
through  the  assembled  nobility  of  England,  then  made  a  bow, 
reminded  him  to  take  his  hat  off,  and  left  him  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  a  mark  for  all  eyes,  for  plenty  of  indjg- 


EDWARD   AS    KING.  2/5 

nant  frowns,  and  for  a  sufficiency  of  amused  and  derisive 
smiles. 

Miles  Hendon  was  entirely  bewildered.  There  sat  the 
young  king,  under  a  canopy  of  state,  five  steps  away,  with  his 
head  bent  down  and  aside,  speaking  with  a  sort  of  human  bird 
of  paradise — a  duke,  maybe;  Hendon  observed  to  himself 
that  it  was  hard  enough  to  be  sentenced  to  death  in  the  full 
vigor  of  life,  without  having  this  peculiarly  public  humiliation 
added.  He  wished  the  king  would  hurry  about  it — some  of 
the  gaudy  people  near  by  were  becoming  pretty  offensive. 
At  this  moment  the  king  raised  his  head  slightly  and  Hendon 
caught  a  good  view  of  his  face.  The  sight  nearly  took  his 
breath  away  ! — He  stood  gazing  at  the  fair  young  face  like 
one  transfixed;  then  presently  ejaculated — 

"  Lo,  the  lord  of  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows  on 
his  throne  !  " 

He  muttered  some  broken  sentences,  still  gazing  and  mar 
velling;  then  turned  his  eyes  around  and  about,  scanning  the 
gorgeous  throng  and  the  splendid  saloon,  murmuring  "But 
these  are  real — verily  these  are  real — surely  it  is  not  a  dream." 

He  stared  at  the  king  again — and  thought,  "Is  it  a  dream  ? 
...  or  is  he  the  veritable  sovereign  of  England,  and  not  the 
friendless  poor  Tom  o'  Bedlam  I  took  him  for — who  shall 
solve  me  this  riddle  ?  " 

A  sudden  idea  flashed  in  his  eye,  and  he  strode  to  the  wall, 
gathered  up  a  chair,  brought  it  back,  planted  it  on  the  floor, 
and  sat  down  in  it  ! 

A  buzz  of  indignation  broke  out,  a  rough  hand  was  laid  up 
on  him,  and  a  voice  exclaimed, — 

"  Up,  thou  mannerless  clown  ! — wouldst  sit  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  king  ?  " 

The  disturbance  attracted  his  majesty's  attention,  who 
stretched  forth  his  hand  and  cried  out — 

"  Touch  him  not,  it  is  his  right !  " 


276  EDWARD    AS    KING. 

The  throng  fell  back,  stupefied.     The  king  went  on— 

"  Learn  ye  all,  ladies,  lords  and  gentlemen,  that  this  is  my 
trusty  and  well  beloved  servant,  Miles  Hendon,  who  inter 
posed  his  good  sword  and  saved  his  prince  from  bodily  harm 
and  possible  death — and  for  this  he  is  a  knight,  by  the  king's 
voice.  Also  learn,  that  for  a  higher  service,  in  that  he  saved 
his  sovereign  stripes  and  shame,  taking  these  upon  himself, 
he  is  a  peer  of  England,  Earl  of  Kent,  and  shall  have  gold  and 
lands  meet  fcr  the  dignity.  More— the  privilege  which  he 
hath  just  exercised  is  his  by  royal  grant;  for  we  have  or 
dained  that  the  chiefs  of  his  line  shall  have  and  hold  the 
right  to  sit  in  the  presence  of  the  majesty  of  England  hence 
forth,  age  after  age,  so  long  as  the  crown  shall  endure.  Mo 
lest  htm  not." 

Two  persons,  who,  through  delay,  had  only  arrived  from 
the  country  during  this  morning,  and  had  now  been  in  this 
room  only  five  minutes,  stood  listening  to  these  words  and 
looking  at  the  king,  then  at  the  scare-crow,  then  at  the  king 
again,  in  a  sort  of  torpid  bewilderment.  These  were  Sir  Hugh 
and  the  Lady  Edith.  But  the  new  Earl  did  not  see  them. 
He  was  still  staring  at  the  monarch,  in  a  dazed  way,  and  mut 
tering — 

"  O,  body  o'  me  !  This  my  pauper  !  This  my  lunatic  ! 
This  is  he  whom  /  would  show  what  grandeur  was,  in  my 
house  of  seventy  rooms  and  seven  and  twenty  servants  !  This 
is  he  who  had  never  known  aught  but  rags  for  raiment,  kicks 
for  comfort,  and  offal  for  diet  !  This  is  he  whom  /  adopted 
and  would  make  respectable  !  Would  God  I  had  a  bag  to 
hide  my  head  in  ! 

Then  his  manners  suddenly  came  back  to  him,  and  he 
dropped  upon  his  knees,  with  his  hands  between  the  king's, 
and  swore  allegiance  and  did  homage  for  his  lands  and  titles. 
Then  he  rose  and  stood  respectfully  aside,  a  mark  still  for  all 
eyes — and  much  envy,  too 


EDWARD   AS    KING.  277 

Now  the  king  discovered  Sir  Hugh,  and  spoke  out,  with 
wrathful  voice  and  kindling  eye — 

"  Strip  this  robber  of  his  false  show  and  stolen  estates,  and 
put  him  under  lock  and  key  till  I  have  need  of  him." 

The  late  Sir  Hugh  was  led  away. 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  now;  the  as- 


"TOM    ROSE   AND    KISSED   THE   KING'S    HAND." 

semblage  fell  apart,  and  Tom  Canty,  quaintly  but  richly 
clothed,  marched  down,  between  these  living  walls,  preceded 
by  an  usher.  He  knelt  before  the  king,  who  said — 

"  I  have  learned  the  story  of  these  past  few  weeks,  and  am 
well  pleased  with  thee.     Thou  hast  governed  the  realm  with 


2/8  EDWARD   AS    KING. 

right  royal  gentleness  and  mercy.  Thou  hast  found  thy  mother 
and  thy  sisters  again?  Good;  they  shall  be  cared  for — and 
thy  father  shall  hang,  if  thou  desire  it  and  the  law  consent. 
Know,  all  ye  that  hear  my  voice,  that  from  this  day,  they 
that  abide  in  the  shelter  of  Christ's  Hospital  and  share  the 
king's  bounty,  shall  have  their  minds  and  hearts  fed,  as  well 
as  their  baser  parts;  and  this  boy  shall  dwell  there,  and  hold 
the  chief  place  in  its  honorable  body  of  governors,  during 
life.  And  for  that  he  hath  been  a  king,  it  is  meet  that  other 
than  common  observance  shall  be  his  due;  wherefore,  note 
this  his  dress  of  state,  for  by  it  he  shall  be  known,  and  none 
shall  copy  it;  and  wheresoever  he  shall  come,  it  shall  remind 
the  people  that  he  hath  been  royal,  in  his  time,  and  none  shall 
deny  him  his  due  of  reverence  or  fail  to  give  him  salutation. 
He  hath  the  throne's  protection,  he  hath  the  crown's  support, 
he  shall  be  known  and  called  by  the  honorable  title  of  the 
King's  Ward." 

The  proud  and  happy  Tom  Canty  rose  and  kissed  the  king's 
hand,  and  was  conducted  from  the  presence.  He  did  not 
waste  any  time,  but  flew  to  his  mother,  to  tell  her  and  Nan 
and  Bet  all  about  it  and  get  them  to  help  him  enjoy  the  great 
news.* 

*See  Notes  to  Chapter  33  at  end  of  the  volume. 


CONCLUSION. 

JUSTICE    AND    RETRIBUTION. 

WHEN  the  mysteries  were  all  cleared  up,  it  came  out,  by 
confession  of  Hugh  Hendon,  that  his  wife  had  repudiated 
Miles  by  his  command,  that  day  at  Hendon  Hall — a  com 
mand  assisted  and  supported  by  the  perfectly  trustworthy 
promise  that  if  she  did  not  deny  that  he  was  Miles  Hendon, 
and  stand  firmly  to  it,  he  would  have  her  life;  whereupon  she 
said  take  it,  she  did  not  value  it — and  she  would  not  repudi 
ate  Miles;  then  the  husband  said  he  would  spare  her  life  but 
have  Miles  assassinated  !  This  was  a  different  matter;  so 
she  gave  her  word  and  kept  it. 

Hugh  was  not  prosecuted  for  his  threats  or  for  stealing  his 
brother's  estates  and  title,  because  the  wife  and  brother  would 
not  testify  against  him — and  the  former  would  not  have  been 
allowed  to  do  it,  even  if  she  had  wanted  to.  Hugh  deserted 
his  wife  and  went  over  to  the  continent,  where  he  presently 
died;  and  by  and  by  the  earl  of  Kent  married  his  relict. 
There  were  grand  times  and  rejoicings  at  Hendon  village 
when  the  couple  paid  their  first  visit  to  the  Hall. 

Tom  Canty's  father  was  never  heard  of  again. 

The  king  sought  out  the  farmer  who  had  been  branded  and 
sold  as  a  slave,  and  reclaimed  him  from  his  evil  life  with 
the  Ruffler's  gang,  and  put  him  in  the  way  of  a  comfortable 
livelihood. 

He  also  took  that  old  lawyer  out  of  prison  and  remitted  his 
fine.  He  provided  good  homes  for  the  daughters  of  the  two 
Baptist  women  whom  he  saw  burned  at  the  stake,  and  roundly 

279 


280  JUSTICE   AND    RETRIBUTION. 

punished  the  official  who  laid  the  undeserved  stripes  upon 
Miles  Hendon's  back. 

He  saved  from  the  gallows  the  boy  who  had  captured  the 
stray  falcon,  and  also  the  woman  who  had  stolen  a  remnant 
of  cloth  from  a  weaver;  but  he  was  too  late  to  save  the  man 
who  had  been  convicted  of  killing  a  deer  in  the  royal  forest. 

He  showed  favor  to  the  justice  who  had  pitied  him  when 
he  was  supposed  to  have  stolen  a  pig,  and  he  had  the  gratifi 
cation  of  seeing  him  grow  in  the  public  esteem  and  become  a 
great  and  honored  man. 

As  long  as  the  king  lived  he  was  fond  of  telling  the  story 
of  his  adventures,  all  through,  from  the  hour  that  the  sentinel 
cuffed  him  away  from  the  palace  gate  till  the  final  midnight 
when  he  deftly  mixed  himself  into  a  gang  of  hurrying  work 
men  and  so  slipped  into  the  Abbey  and  climbed  up  and  hid 
himself  in  the  Confessor's  tomb,  and  then  slept  so  long,  next 
day,  that  he  came  within  one  of  missing  the  Coronation  alto 
gether.  He  said  that  the  frequent  rehearsing  of  the  precious 
lesson  kept  him  strong  in  his  purpose  to  make  its  teachings 
yield  benefits  to  his  people;  and  so,  whilst  his  life  was  spared 
he  should  continue  to  tell  the  story,  and  thus  keep  its  sorrow 
ful  spectacles  fresh  in  his  memory  and  the  springs  of  pity 
replenished  in  his  heart. 

Miles  Hendon  and  Tom  Canty  were  favorites  of  the  king, 
all  through  his  brief  reign,  and  his  sincere  mourners  when  he 
died.  The  good  earl  of  Kent  had  too  much  good  sense  to 
abuse  his  peculiar  privilege;  but  he  exercised  it  twice  after 
the  instance  we  have  seen  of  it  before  he  was  called  from  the 
world;  once  at  the  accession  of  Queen  Mary,  and  once  at  the 
accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  A  descendant  of  his  exer 
cised  it  at  the  accession  of  James  I.  Before  this  one's  son 
chose  to  use  the  privilege,  near  a  quarter  of  a  century  had 
elapsed,  and  the  "  privilege  of  the  Kents  "  had  faded  out  of 
most  people's  memories;  so,  when  the  Kent  of  that  day  ap- 


JUSTICE   AND   RETRIBUTION.  28l 

peared  before  Charles  I.  and  his  court  and  sat  down  in  the 
sovereign's  presence  to  assert  and  perpetuate  the  right  of  his 
house,  there  was  a  fine  stir,  indeed  !  But  the  matter  was 
soon  explained  and  the  right  confirmed.  The  last  earl  of  the 
line  fell  in  the  wars  of  the  Commonwealth  fighting  for  the 
king,  and  the  odd  privilege  ended  with  him. 

Tom  Canty  lived  to  be  a  very  old  man,  a  handsome, 
white-haired  old  fellow,  of  grave  and  benignant  aspect.  As 
long  as  he  lasted  he  was  honored;  and  he  was  also  rever 
enced,  for  his  striking  and  peculiar  costume  kept  the  people 
reminded  that  "in  his  time  he  had  been  royal;"  so,  wher 
ever  he  appeared  the  crowd  fell  apart,  making  way  for  him, 
and  whispering,  one  to  another,  "  Doff  thy  hat,  it  is  the 
King's  Ward  !  " — and  so  they  saluted,  and  got  his  kindly 
smile  in  return — and  they  valued  it,  too,  for  his  was  an  hon 
orable  history. 

Yes,  King  Edward  VI.  lived  only  a  few  years,  poor  boy, 
but  he  lived  them  worthily.  More  than  once,  when  some 
great  dignitary,  some  gilded  vassal  of  the  crown,  made  argu 
ment  against  his  leniency,  and  urged  that  some  law  which 
he  was  bent  upon  amending  was  gentle  enough  for  its  pur 
pose,  and  wrought  no  suffering  or  oppression  which  any  one 
need  mightily  mind,  the  young  king  turned  the  mournful  elo 
quence  of  his  great  compassionate  eyes  upon  him  and  an 
swered — 

"  What  dost  thou  know  of  suffering  and  oppression  ?  I  and 
my  people  know,  but  not  thou." 

The  reign  of  Edward  VI.  was  a  singularly  merciful  one  for 
those  harsh  times.  Now  that  we  are  taking  leave  of  him  let 
us  try  to  keep  this  in  our  minds,  to  his  credit. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  i. — Page  37. 
Christ's  Hospital  Costume. 

IT  is  most  reasonable  to  regard  the  dress  as  copied  from  the  cos 
tume  of  the  citizens  of  London  of  that  period,  when  long  blue  coats 
were  the  common  habit  of  apprentices  and  serving-men,  and  yellow 
stockings  were  generally  worn;  the  coat  fits  closely  to  the  body,  but 
has  loose  sleeves,  and  beneath  is  worn  a  sleeveless  yellow  under-coat; 
around  the  waist  is  a  red  leathern  girdle;  a  clerical  band  around  the 
neck,  and  a  small  flat  black  cap,  about  the  size  of  a  saucer,  completes 
the  costume.  —  Timbs1  "  Curiosities  of  London ." 

NOTE  2. — Page  40. 

IT  appears  that  Christ's  Hospital  was  not  originally  founded  as  a 
school;  its  object  was  to  rescue  children  from  the  streets,  to  shelter, 
feed,  clothe  them,  etc.  —  Timbs1  "  Curiosities  of  London." 

NOTE  3. — Page  50. 
The  Duke  of  Norfolk's  Condemnation  Commanded. 

THE  King  was  now  approaching  fast  towards  his  end;  and  fearing 
lest  Norfolk  should  escape  him,  he  sent  a  message  to  the  Commons, 
by  which  he  desired  them  to  hasten  the  bill,  on  pretence  that  Norfolk 
enjoyed  the  dignity  of  earl  marshal,  and  it  was  necessary  to  appoint 
another,  who  might  officiate  at  the  ensuing  ceremony  of  installing  his 
son  Prince  of  Wales. — Hiime,  vol.  iii.  p.  307. 

NOTE  4. — Page  62. 

IT  was  not  till  the  end  of  this  reign  [Henry  VIII]  that  any  salads, 
carrots,  turnips,  or  other  edible  roots  were  produced  in  England. 
The  little  of  these  vegetables  that  was  used,  was  formerly  imported 

283 


284  NOTES. 

from  Holland  and  Flanders.  -Queen  Catherine,  when  she  wanted  a 
salad,  was  obliged  to  despatch  a  messenger  thither  on  purpose. — 
Hume's  History  of  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  314. 

NOTE  5. — Page  69. 
Attainder  of  Norfolk. 

THE  house  of  peers,  without  examining  the  prisoner,  without  trial 
or  evidence,  passed  a  bill  of  attainder  against  him  and  sent  it  down  to 
the  commons.  .  .  .  The  obsequious  commons  obeyed  his  [the 
King's]  directions;  and  the  King,  having  affixed  the  royal  assent  to 
the  bill  by  commissioners,  issued  orders  for  the  execution  of  Nor 
folk  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  January,  [the  next  day.] 
— Hume's  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  306. 

NOTE  6. — Page  83. 
The  Lomng-Cttp. 

THE  loving-cup,  and  the  peculiar  ceremonies  observed  in  drinking 
from  it,  are  older  than  English  history.  It  is  thought  that  both  are 
Danish  importations.  As  far  back  as  knowledge  goes,  the  loving-cup 
has  always  been  drunk  at  English  banquets.  Tradition  explains  the 
ceremonies  in  this  way:  in  the  rude  ancient  times  it  was  deemed  a 
wise  precaution  to  have  both  hands  of  both  drinkers  employed,  lest 
while  the  pledger  pledged  his  love  and  fidelity  to  the  pledgee  the 
pledgee  take  that  opportunity  to  slip  a  dirk  into  him  ! 

NOTE  7. — Page  90. 
The  D like  of  Norfolk 's  Narroiu  Escape. 

HAD  Henry  VIII  survived  a  few  hours  longer,  his  order  for  the 
duke's  execution  would  have  been  carried  into  effect.  "  But  news 
being  carried  to  the  Tower  that  the  King  himself  had  expired  that 
night,  the  lieutenant  deferred  obeying  the  warrant;  and  it  was  not 
thought  advisable  by  the  Council  to  begin  a  new  reign  by  the  death 
of  the  greatest  nobleman  in  the  Kingdom,  who  had  been  condemned 
by  a  sentence  so  unjust  and  tyrannical." — Hume's  England,  vol.  iii. 
P-  307. 


NOTES.  285 

NOTE  8. — Page  122. 
The  Whipping-Boy. 

JAMES  I  and  Charles  II  had  whipping-boys  when  they  were  little 
fellows,  to  take  their  punishment  for  them  when  they  fell  short  in 
their  lessons;  so  I  have  ventured  to  furnish  my  small  prince  with 
one,  for  my  own  purposes. 

NOTES  TO  CHAPTER  XV. — Page  138. 
Character  of  Hertford. 

THE  young  king  discovered  an  extreme  attachment  to  his  uncle, 
who  was,  in  the  main,  a  man  of  moderation  and  probity. — Hume1  s 
England,  vol.  iii.  p.  324. 

But  if  he  [the  Protector]  gave  offence  by  assuming  too  much  state, 
he  deserves  great  praise  on  account  of  the  laws  passed  this  session, 
by  which  the  rigor  of  former  statutes  was  much  mitigated,  and  some 
security  given  to  the  freedom  of  the  constitution.  All  laws  were  re 
pealed  which  extended  the  crime  of  treason  beyond  the  statute  of 
the  twenty-fifth  of  Edward  III;  all  laws  enacted  during  the  late  reign 
extending  the  crime  of  felony;  all  the  former  laws  against  Lollardy 
or  heresy,  together  with  the  statute  of  the  Six  Articles.  None  were 
to  be  accused  for  words,  but  within  a  month  after  they  were  spoken. 
By  these  repeals  several  of  the  most  rigorous  laws  that  ever  had 
passed  in  England  were  annulled;  and  some  dawn,  both  of  civil  and 
religious  'liberty,  began  to  appear  to  the  people.  A  repeal  also 
passed  of  that  law,  the  destruction  of  all  laws,  by  which  the  king's 
proclamation  was  made  of  equal  force  with  a  statute. — Ibid. ,  vol. 
iii.  p.  339. 

Boiling  to  Death. 

IN  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  poisoners  were,  by  act  of  parliament, 
condemned  to  be  boiled  to  death.  This  act  was  repealed  in  the  follow 
ing  reign. 

In  Germany,  even  in  the  I7th  century,  this  horrible  punishment 
was  inflicted  on  coiners  and  counterfeiters.  Taylor,  the  Water  Poet, 
describes  an  execution  he  witnessed  in  Hamburg,  in  1616.  The  judg 
ment  pronounced  against  a  coiner  of  false  money  was  that  he  should 
"  be  boiled  to  death  in  oil;  not  thrown  into  the  vessel  at  once,  but  with 


286  NOTES. 

a  pulley  or  rope  to  be  hanged  under  the  armpits,  and  then  let  down 
into  the  oil  by  degrees;  first  the  feet,  and  next  the  legs,  and  so  to  boil 
his  flesh  from  his  bones  alive." — Dr.  J.  Hammond  TrumbulF  s  "Blue 
Laws,  7"rue  and  False,"  p.  13. 

The  Famous  Stocking  Case. 

A  WOMAN  and  her  daughter  nine  years  old,  were  hanged  in  Hunt 
ingdon  for  selling  their  souls  to  the  devil,  and  raising  a  storm  by 
pulling  off  their  stockings  ! — Ibid.,  p.  20. 

NOTE  10. — Page  153. 
Enslaving. 

So  young  a  king,  and  so  ignorant  a  peasant  were  likely  to  make 
mistakes — and  this  is  an  instance  in  point.  This  peasant  was  suffering 
from  this  law  by  anticipation;  the  king  was  venting  his  indignation 
against  a  law  which  was  not  yet  in  existence:  for  this  hideous  statute 
was  to  have  birth  in  this  little  king's  own  reign.  However,  we  know, 
from  the  humanity  of  his  character,  that  it  could  never  have  been 
suggested  by  him. 

NOTES  TO  CHAPTER  XXIII. — Page  202. 
Death  for  Trijling  Larcenies. 

WHEN  Connecticut  and  New  Haven  were  framing  their  first  codes, 
larceny  above  the  value  of  twelve  pence  was  a  capital  crime  in  Eng 
land — as  it  had  been  since  the  time  of  Henry  I. — Dr.  J.  Hammond 
Trumbuir  s  "  Blue  Laws,  True  and  False"  p.  17. 

The  curious  old  book  called  "The  English  Rogue"  makes  the 
limit  thirteen  pence  ha'penny;  death  being  the  portion  of  any  who 
steal  a  thing  "  above  the  value  of  thirteen  pence  ha'penny." 

NOTES  TO  CHAPTER  XXVII. — Page  234. 

FROM  many  descriptions  of  larceny,  the  law  expressly  took  away 
the  benefit  of  clergy;  to  steal  a  horse,  or  a  Jiawk,  or  woolen  cloth  from 
the  weaver,  was  a  hanging  matter.  So  it  was,  to  kill  a  deer  from  the 
king's  forest,  or  to  export  sheep  from  the  Kingdom. — Dr.  J.  Ham 
mond  Trumbtdr s  "  Blue  Laws,  True  and  False ,"  p.  13. 

William  Prynne,  a  learned  barrister,  was  sentenced — [long  after 


NOTES.  287 

Edward  the  Sixth's  time] — to  lose  both  his  ears  in  the  pillory;  to 
degradation  from  the  bar;  a  fine  of  ,£3,000,  and  imprisonment  for  life. 
Three  years  afterwards,  he  gave  new  offence  to  Laud,  by  publishing 
a  pamphlet  against  the  hierarchy.  He  was  again  prosecuted,  and 
was  sentenced  to  lose  what  remained  of  his  ears;  to  pay  a  fine  of 
,£5,000;  to  be  branded  on  both  his  cheeks  with  the  letters  S.  L.  (for  Se 
ditious  Libeller,)  and  to  remain  in  prison  for  life.  The  severity  of 
this  sentence  was  equalled  by  the  savage  rigor  of  its  execution. — 
Ibid.,  p.  12. 

NOTES  TO  CHAPTER  XXXIII. — Page  278. 

CHRIST'S  HOSPITAL,  or  BLUE  COAT  SCHOOL,  "  the  Noblest  Insti 
tution  in  the  World." 

The  ground  on  which  the  Priory  of  the  Grey  Friars  stood  was  con 
ferred  by  Henry  the  Eighth  on  the  Corporation  of  London,  [who 
caused  the  institution  there  of  a  home  for  poor  boys  and  girls.]  Sub 
sequently,  Edward  the  Sixth  caused  the  old  Priory  to  be  properly 
repaired,  and  founded  within  it  that  noble  establishment  called  the 
Blue  Coat  School,  or  Christ's  Hospital,  for  the  education  and  main 
tenance  of  orphans  and  the  children  of  indigent  persons 

Edward  would  not  let  him  [Bishop  Ridley]  depart  till  the  letter  was 
written,  [to  the  Lord  Mayor,]  and  then  charged  him  to  deliver  it  him 
self,  and  signify  his  special  request  and  commandment  that  no  time 
might  be  lost  in  proposing  what  was  convenient,  and  apprising  him 
of  the  proceedings.  The  work  was  zealously  undertaken,  Ridley 
himself  engaging  in  it;  and  the  result  was,  the  founding  of  Christ's 
Hospital  for  the  Education  of  Poor  Children.  [The  king  endowed 
several  other  charities  at  the  same  time.]  "  Lord  God,"  said  he,  "  I 
yieki  thee  most  hearty  thanks  that  thou  hast  given  me  life  thus  long, 
to  finish  this  work  to  the  glory  of  thy  name  !  "  That  innocent  and 
most  exemplary  life  was  drawing  rapidly  to  its  close,  and  in  a  few 
days  he  rendered  up  his  spirit  to  his  Creator,  praying  God  to  defend 
the  realm  from  Papistry. — J.  Heneage  Jesse's  "  London,  its  Celebrated 
Characters  and  Places." 

In  the  Great  Hall  hangs  a  large  picture  of  King  Edward  VI  seated 
on  his  throne,  in  a  scarlet  and  ermined  robe,  holding  the  sceptre  in 
his  left  hand,  and  presenting  with  the  other  the  Charter  to  the  kneel 
ing  Lord  Mayor.  By  his  side  stands  the  Chancellor,  holding  the  seals, 
and  next  to  him  are  other  officers  of  state.  Bishop  Ridley  kneels 
before  him  with  uplifted  hands,  as  if  supplicating  a  blessing  on  the 


288  NOTES. 

event;  whilst  the  Aldermen,  etc.,  with  the  Lord  Mayor,  kneel  on 
both  sides,  occupying  the  middle  ground  of  the  picture;  and  lastly, 
in  front,  are  a  double  row  of  boys  on  one  side,  and  girls  on  the  other, 
from  the  master  and  matron  down  to  the  boy  and  girl  who  have  step 
ped  forward  from  their  respective  rows,  and  kneel  with  raised  hands 
before  the  King. —  Timbs1  "  Curiosities  of  London,"  p.  98. 

Christ's  Hospital,  by  ancient  custom,  possesses  the  privilege  of 
addressing  the  Sovereign  on  the  occasion  of  his  or  her  coming  into 
the  City  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  the  Corporation  of  London. 
—Ibid. 

The  Dining-Hall,  with  its  lobby  and  organ-gallery,  occupies  the 
entire  story,  which  is  187  feet  long,  51  feet  wide,  and  47  feet  high;  it 
is  lit  by  nine  large  windows,  filled  with  stained  glass  on  the  south 
side;  and  is,  next  to  Westminster  Hall,  the  noblest  room  in  the  me 
tropolis.  Here  the  boys,  now  about  800  in  number,  dine;  and  here 
are  held  the  "  Suppings  in  Public,"  to  which  visitors  are  admitted  by 
tickets,  issued  by  the  Treasurer  and  by  the  Governors  of  Christ's 
Hospital.  The  tables  are  laid  with  cheese  in  wooden  bowls;  beer  in 
wooden  piggins,  poured  from  leathern  jacks;  and  bread  brought  in 
large  baskets.  The  official  company  enter;  the  Lord  Mayor,  or  Pres 
ident,  takes  his  seat  in  a  state  chair,  made  of  oak  from  St.  Catherine's 
Church  by  the  Tower;  a  hymn  is  sung,  accompanied  by  the  organ;  a 
"  Grecian,"  or  head  boy,  reads  the  prayers  from  the  pulpit,  silence 
being  enforced  by  three  drops  of  a  wooden  hammer.  After  prayer 
the  supper  commences,  and  the  visitors  walk  between  the  tables.  At 
its  close,  the  "trade-boys"  take  up  the  baskets,  bowls,  jacks,  pig- 
gins,  and  candlesticks,  and  pass  in  procession,  the  bowing  to  the  Gov 
ernors  being  curiously  formal.  This  spectacle  was  witnessed  by 
Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Albert  in  1845.  % 

Among  the  more  eminent  Blue  Coat  Boys  are  Joshua  Barnes, 
editor  of  Anacreon  and  Euripides;  Jeremiah  Markland,  the  eminent 
critic,  particularly  in  Greek  literature;  Camden,  the  antiquary; 
Bishop  Stillingfleet;  Samuel  Richardson  the  novelist;  Thomas  Mitch 
ell,  the  translator  of  Aristophanes;  Thomas  Barnes,  many  years  editor 
of  the  London  Times;  Coleridge,  Charles  Lamb,  and  Leigh  Hunt. 

No  boy  is  admitted   before  he  is   seven   years  old,  or  after  he  is 

'  nine;  and  no  boy  can  remain  in  the  school  after  he  is  fifteen,  King's 

boys  and  "Grecians"  alone  excepted.  There  are  about  500  Governors, 

at  the  head  of  whom  are  the  Sovereign  and  the  Prince  of  Wales.   The 

qualification  for  a  Governor  is  payment  of  ^500. — Ibid. 


NOTES.  289 


GENERAL  NOTE. 

ONE  hears  much  about  the  "  hideous  Blue- Laws  of  Connecticut"  and 
is  accustomed  to  shudder  piously  when  they  arc  mentioned.  There  are  peo 
ple  in  America — and  even  in  England ! — who  imagine  that  they  were  a 
very  monument  of  malignity,  pitilessness,  and  inhumanity;  whereas,  in 
reality  they  were  about  the  first  SWEEPING  DEPARTURE  FROM  JUDICIAL 
ATROCITY  which  the  "  civilized"  world  had  seen.  This  humane  and 
kindly  Blue-Law  code,  of  two  hundred  and  forty  years  ago,  stands  all  by 
itself,  with  ages  of  bloody  law  on  the  further  side  of  it,  and  a  centtiry  and 
three-quarters  of  bloody  English  law  on  THIS  side  of  it. 

There  has  never  been  a  time — tinder  the  Blue-Laws  or  any  other — 
when  above  FOURTEEN  crimes  were  ptinishable  by  death  in  Connecticut. 
But  in  England,  within  the  memory  of  men  who  are  still  hale  in  body 
and  mind,  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  TWENTY-THREE  crimes  were  punishable 
by  death  !*  These  facts  are  ivorth  knowing — and  worth  thinking  about, 
too. 

*  See  Dr.  J.  Hammond  Trumbull's  "  Blue  Laws,  True  and  False,"  p.  n. 


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"  Each  one  of  these  sketches  shows  the  sure  touch  and  the  constructive  in 
stinct  of  a  born  artist  in  letters."— The  Literary  World  (Boston). 

"  The  whole  book  has  a  pungent  originality,  very  grateful  to  the  jaded 
reader  of  common-place  romance." — Christian  Union. 

"  Mrs.  Cavazza  has  made  a  great  beginning  in  these  stories,  which  will  bear 
more  than  one  reading,  and  which,  as  the  work  of  a  New  England  woman,  are 
very  remarkable.  They  are  delightful,  and  they  are  mature."— Richard 
Henry  Stoddard  in  Mail  and  Egress. 


IN  BEAVER  COVE  AND  ELSEWHERE. 

By  Matt  Grim,  author  of  "Adventures  of  a  Fair  Rebel."  This 
volume  contains  all  of  Miss  Crim's  most  famous  short  stories.  These 
stories  have  received  the  highest  praise  from  eminent  critics,  and  have 
given  Miss  Grim  a  position  among  the  leading  lady  writers  of  America. 
Illustrated  by  E.  W.  Kemble.  Cloth,  8vo,  $1.00.  Paper,  50  cents. 

"  Her  stories  bear  the  stamp  of  genius."— St.  Paul  Globe. 

"  A  writer  who  has  quickly  won  recognition  by  short  stories  of  exceptional 
power."— The  Independent. 

"  Miss  Crim  is  a  writer  of  rare  dramatic  power,  and  her  relations  of  events 
in  the  old  and  new  South  are  full  of  lire,  picturesque  description,  and  dramatic 
situations." — Cincinnati  Commercial-Gazette. 

"  The  true  Crackers  are  of  Northern  Georgia,  and  Matt  Crim  is  as  much 
their  delineator  as  is  Miss  Murfree  the  chronicler  of  the  mountaineers  of  Ten 
nessee." — New  York  Times. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A  FAIR  REBEL. 

By  Matt  Crim.  This  novel  is  the  record  of  a  deeply  passionate 
nature,  the  interest  in  whose  story  is  enhanced  by  her  devotion  to  a 
lover,  also  a  Southerner,  compelled  by  his  convictions  to  take  service 
in  the  Northern  army.  Striking  descriptions  of  the  campaign  in 
Georgia  and  the  siege  of  Atlanta  are  given.  With  a  frontispiece  by 
Dan  Beard.  Cloth,  8vo,  $1.00.  Paper,  50  cents. 

"It  is  a  love  story  of  unusual  sweetness,  pathos,  and  candor." — Christian 
Union. 

"  We  advise  all  who  love  a  good,  pure  novel  to  read  '  The  Adventures  of  a 
Fair  Rebel.'  "—Atlanta  Herald. 

"  The  incidents  are  varied,  and  the  interest  is  never  allowed  to  flag  from 
opening  to  close  of  this  enjoyable  novel." — Philadelphia  ledger. 

"  The  style  is  simple  and  straightforward,  with  fine  touches  here  and  there. 
.  .  .  The  showing  forth  of  the  best  aspects  on  both  sides  of  the  dreadful 
struggle  is  skilfully  done,  avoiding  false  sentiment,  and  maintaining  an  almost 
judicial  tone,  which  does  not,  however,  lessen  the  interest  of  the  story."— The 
Nation. 

THE  MASTER  OF  SILENCE.     A  ROMANCE. 

By  Irving  Bacheller.  Readers  of  Mr.  Bacheller's  stories  and 
poems  in  the  magazines  will  look  with  interest  for  his  first  extended 
efToit  in  fictiou.  ("Fiction,  Fact,  and  Fancy  Series.")  Cloth,  12mo, 
75  cents. 


' '  The  Master  of  Silence  '  is  the  first  novel  of  Mr.  Irving  Bacheller,  of  the 
newspaper  syndicate,  ami  deals  in  a  striking  way  with  the  faculty  of  mind- 
reading." — New  York  World. 

"  A  well-named  story  is  already  on  the  road  to  success.  .  .  .  Altogether 
the  story  is  a  strange  character  study,  full  of  suggestion,  earnest  in  moral 
purpose,  and  worthy  of  attention.11 — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

"  There  is  no  let  up  in  the  intrigue  of  '  The  Master  of  Silence,'  and  there  is 
plot  and  action  enough  in  it  to  construct  a  book-case  full  of  novels  by  Howells 
and  James." — Cambridge  Tribune. 

GEORGIA  STORIES.    (In  Preparation.) 

By  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston,  author  of  "  Dukesborough 
Tales,"  etc.  Colonel  Johnston  has  selected  a  number  of  his  most 
characteristic  and  entertaining  stories,  now  first  published  in  book 
form,  for  a  volume  of  the  new  "Fiction,  Fact,  and  Fancy  Series." 
Colonel  Johnston  is  easily  the  dean  of  Southern  men  of  letters,  and  the 
announcement  of  a  new  volume  from  his  pen  calls  for  no  further  com 
ment.  Cloth,  12mo,  75  cents. 

MOONBLIGHT,  AND  SIX  FEET  OP  ROMANCE. 

By  Dan  Beard.  In  "  Mooubligbt  "  the  artist-author  has  brought 
into  play  all  those  resources  of  humor,  imagination,  and  sarcasm  for 
which  he  is  so  well  known,  to  teach  under  the  guise  of  a  romance  the 
lesson  of  the  wrongs  inflicted  by  capital  on  labor.  In  the  light  of  re 
cent  events  at  the  Homestead  mills,  this  book  seems  to  have  been  pro 
phetic.  Illustrated  by  the  author.  Cloth,  8vo,  $1.00. 

"  A  strange  but  powerful  book."— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"He  does  not  construct  a -Utopia  like  Bellamy;  the  reforms  he  proposes 
are  sensible  and  would  be  profitable,  if  greedy  capital  could  be  induced  to  con 
sider  and  try  them."— Springfield  Republican. 

"  It  is  a  witty,  gay,  poetical  book,  full  of  bright  things  and  true  things,  the 
seer  donning  a  jester's  garb  to  preach  in;  and  one  may  be  sure,  under  the 
shrug  and  the  smile,  of  the  keen  dart  aimed  at  pride,  prejudice,  self-seeking, 
injustice,  and  the  praise  for  whatsoever  is  beautiful  and  good." — Hartford 
Courant. 

THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPER.  A  TALE  FOR 
YOUNG  PEOPLE  OF  ALL  AGES. 

By  Mark  Twain.  New  popular  edition  of  this  "  classic  "  of 
American  fiction.  It  is  a  charming  romance  of  the  life  and  times  of 
Edward  VI.,  the  boy  king  of  England,  and  is  considered  by  many  to 
be  Mark  Twain's  best  wrork.  Pronounced  by  high  authorities  one  of 
the  best  child's  stories  ever  written.  Uniform  with  the  cheap  edition 
of  "Huckleberry  Film."  Illustrated.  Cloth,  12mo,  $1.00. 


ADVENTURES    OF    HUCKLEBERRY    FINN.      (Tom 
Sawyer's  Comrade.) 

By  Mark  Twain.  New  cheap  edition  of  the  laughable  adven 
tures  of  Huck  Finn  and  a  runaway  slave  in  a  raft  journey  along  the 
Mississippi.  Contains  the  famous  description  of  a  Southern  feud. 
Illustrated  by  E.  W.  Kemble.  Cloth,  12mo,  $1.00. 

IVAN  THE  FOOL,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  Leo  Tolstoi.  Translated  direct  from  the  Russian  by  Count 
Norraikow,  with  illustrations  by  the  celebrated  Russian  artist,  Gribaye- 
doff.  Cloth,  12mo,  $1.00. 

"  The  stories  in  this  volume  are  wonderfully  simple  and  pure." — Detroit 
Free  Press. 

"  As  creations  of  fancy  they  take  high  rank.11— Boston  Transcript. 

"  '  Ivan  the  Fool '  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  suggestive  of  Tolstoi's 
fables,  and  the  work  of  translation  is  admirably  performed."— Chicago 
Standard. 

LIFE  IS  WORTH  LIVING,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  Leo  Tolstoi.  Translated  direct  from  the  Russian  by  Count 
Norraikow.  This  work,  unlike  some  of  his  later  writings,  shows  the 
great  writer  at  his  best.  The  stories,  while  entertaining  in  themselves, 
are  written  for  a  purpose,  and  contain  abundant  food  for  reflection. 
Illustrated.  Cloth,  12mo,  $1.00. 

MERRY  TALES. 

By  Mark  Twain.  The  opening  volume  of  the  new  "Fiction, 
Fact,  and  Fancy  Series."  Contains  some  of  the  author's  favorite 
sketches,  including  his  personal  reminiscences  of  the  war  as  given  in 
"The  Private  History  of  a  Campaign  that  Failed."  Cloth,  12mo, 
75  cents. 

"  Very  readable  and  amusing  tales  they  are." — Neiu  York  Sun. 
"  Thousands   will   welcome  in  permanent   form  these   delicious   bits  of 
humor." — Boston  Traveller. 

"  These  tales  are  now  brought  together  in  an  attractive  and  convenient 
volume  which  all  those  who  enjoy  the  author's  inimitable  humor  will  appreci 
ate." — Public  Opinion. 

"Some  of  these  stories  are  deep  with  pathos;  others  bubble  over  with 
humor.  All  of  them  are  intensely  interesting  and  readable  from  the  opening 
sentence  to  the  closing  line."— New  Orleans  States. 


POETRY. 


SELECTED  POEMS  BY  WALT  WHITMAN. 

Chosen  and  edited    by  Arthur  Stedman. 
Shortly  before  Mr.  Whitman's  death,  the  old  poet 
for  the  first  time  consented  to  the  publication  of 
a  selection  from   "Leaves  of  Grass,"  embracing 
his  most  popular  short  poems  and  representative 
passages  from  his  longer  lyrical  efforts.    Arranged 
WALT  WHITMAN.        for  home  and  school  use.     With  a  portrait  of  the 
author.  ("Fiction,  Fact,  and  Fancy  Series.")    Cloth,  12mo,  75  cents. 

"  Mr.  Stedman's  choice  is  skilfully  made."— The  Nation. 

"  The  volume  represents  all  that  is  best  in  Walt  Whitman."— Saw  Fran 
cisco  Chronicle. 

"  That  in  Walt  Whitman  which  is  virile  and  bardic,  lyrically  fresh  and 
sweet,  or  epically  grand  and  elemental,  will  be  preserved  to  the  edification  of 
young  men  and  maidens,  as  well  as  of  maturer  folk."— Hartford  Courant. 

"  The  intention  of  the  editor  has  been  to  offer  those  of  Whitman's  poems 
which  are  most  truly  representative  of  his  genius.  The  selections  have  been 
well  made,  and  those  who  have  yet  to  make  acquaintance  with  this  most  orig 
inal  of  American  poets  will  have  reason  to  thank  the  publishers  for  this  little 
volume." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  These  '  Selected  Poems '  will  go  a  long  Avay  toward  securing  for  the 
dead  poet  the  respectful  hearing  to  which  his  brilliant  talent  was  entitled."— 
Noah  Brooks  in  Neivark  (N.  J.)  Advertiser. 

"  The  present  selection  contains  those  of  Whitman's  poems  that  most  fully 
illustrate  his  genius,  his  wonderful  appreciation  of  the  soul  of  nature,  his 
hearty  and  wholesome  spirit  of  physical  and  mental  joyousness,  his  serene  tran 
quillity  in  old  age,  and  his  wide  and  generous  conception  of  American  life."— 
Providence  Journal. 

FLOWER  O'  THE  VINE :   ROMANTIC  BALLADS  AND 
SOSPIRI  DI  ROMA. 

By  William  Sharp,  author  of  "  A  Fellowe  and  His  Wife  "  (with 
Miss  Howard),  "Life  and  Letters  of  Joseph  Severn,"  etc.  With  an 
introduction  by  Thomas  A.  Janvier,  and  a  portrait  of  the  author.  As 


one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  younger  English  poets,  equal  success 
is  anticipated  for  this  first  American  edition  of  Mr.  Sharp's  poems. 
Its  welcome  in  the  American  press  has  been  most  hearty.  Tastefully 
bound,  with  appropriate  decorative  design.  Cloth,  8vo,  $1.50. 

"  This  volume  of  verse,  by  Mr.  William  Sharp,  has  a  music  like  that  of  the 
meeting  of  two  winds,  one  blown  down  from  the  Northern  seas,  keen  and  salty, 
the  other  carrying  on  its  wings  the  warm  fragrance  of  Southern  fields." — The 
Literary  World. 

"  These  old  ballads,  whether  in  Scottish  dialect  or  not,  are  transfused  with 
the  wild,  uncanny,  shivering  character  of  all  the  old  myths  of  the  North,  a 
strange  pungent  chill,  so  to  speak,  as  if  the  breath  that  gave  them  voice  were 
blown  across  leagues  of  iceberg  and  glacier.11— Chicago  Times. 

"  When  Mr.  Sharp  leaves  the  North  with  its  wild  stories  of  love  and  fight 
ing  and  death,  and  carries  us  away  with  him  in  the  "Sospiri  di  Roma"  to  the 
warmth  and  the  splendor  of  the  South,  he  equally  shows  the  creative  faculty. 
He  is  a  true  lover  of  Earth  with  her  soothing  touch  and  soft  caress,  he  lies  in 
her  arms,  he  hears  her  whispered  secret,  and  through  the  real  discovers  the 
spiritual."— Philadelphia  Record. 

"  The  poems  combine  a  gracefulness  of  rhythm  and  a  subtle  sweetness." 
— Baltimore  American. 

"  The  author  makes  good  the  claim  of  his  friends  as  a  new  poet,  both  in 
originality  of  thought  and  a  unique  grace  of  expression." — San  Francisco 
Bulletin. 

"  The  impression  he  makes  is  that  of  a  strong  and  musical  singer,  who  can 
sing  in  many  keys.  His  themes,  in  the  present  volume,  are  limited  to  two  gen 
eral  fields;  one,  in  which  he  sings  in  the  ballad  form,  dealing  with  the  old 
myths  and  legends  of  the  land  of  his  ancestors — Scotland—and  its  rugged  hills 
and  wild  scenery  Wend  with  the  narrative  of  yet  wilder,  more  witchlike  imag 
inings;  while  the  other,  in  fine  contrast,  breathes  only  Italian  airs.  They  are 
the  breezes  from  the  Mediterranean,  and  from  the  Apennines — airs  that 
breathe  over  the  Campagna  and  the  Roman  hills."— Hartford  Times. 


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